(I)
it is beginning
and all
but your tongue
harnessed
to my tongue
like stallions
to chariots
of troy
is void
all but
rippling silhouettes
aloft the ankles
of God
in dark
formless waters
calling out to us
spreading
like poison
the budding nectar
shrouding
your tongue
ever sonant
as melting butter
lurking
in the petals
behind your thong
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