11-29-2010, 02:08 PM
Winter spies us curled like bugs
round sheaths of wheat.
The take out cartons,
empty cola cans,
books unread
and battered shoes,
like a photograph
developing backwards
slowly fade
into the dark,
beginning with a scene
and ending in a blur.
I grind my erection
against your kneecap,
you smile in your sleep
and pull me closer.
round sheaths of wheat.
The take out cartons,
empty cola cans,
books unread
and battered shoes,
like a photograph
developing backwards
slowly fade
into the dark,
beginning with a scene
and ending in a blur.
I grind my erection
against your kneecap,
you smile in your sleep
and pull me closer.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe