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Brink Me

Heidi Lynn Staples

arm in the bed, though, war. and some wetness. in the sheet, the little agog
the one eye. ate airily, the gall and war sings. did in some monstrous informant
of you, in the ball's curve.

and there was wine bidding passage and the prodding. every weight true fond
bone. fond obalisque milk and roam, rock harp rock barb in the red. you sweat
fond the salt has seizure.
               in the muddle of the tunic where love is, the toys lay roughly.
        they sway they're red. now one has a comment, a comma, a coma, we
        saw it coming, sudden as an ohm, an oh, a ho-ho-ho, a 'ho, ahoy, ahem.
        in the yelling where love is, you stay you're expired (hung) and that
        now dawn calms it's here because, as you say, I am starry raucous and
        shouldn't digress so, as if you hadn't cost enough the thirst's hymen
        some mammary of happiness, the hows having become
        discombobulated. you are all, night reel, and the hows within the hows
        whose hounds our high let lust's array.

we meet in these audible palaces
we look to fondle audible to behold beheld
that too and that to
reach water -- we sing the other
way hooked on a hard ape's catastrophe.

Heidi Lynn Staples

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