Her hands, asleep in tulip bulbs,
unfurl to chase the light—
out lurches the spider that lives inside her
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Vanishing behind the curve,
The Promenade;
Slick and brilliant with rain,
Crowning the crescent sands of the darkling beach.
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Incandescence shimmers through the thicket—fur glistening heavenly in the starlight. Canine paws imprinting on the dewing topsoil.
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Gift me hardcover vintage books of authors long lost, dead and forgotten
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You could feel my leg bouncing against
Yours. I brushed fingers with my Dream
And found it wanting;
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clink, utters the mast, then clink again again clink phieeew the wigeon not-quite-sings to the lapping waterblanket
the wigeon has troubled the immodest sky the immodest stillness of the sky
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