swamped
at high tide
&
Beauty,
I was so taken with the sky I forgot to
compliment
you on your shoulders
& your breatss, so raw
the cartoon light can’t
touch them
nor your African mask
as you sip a mailbomb cocktail
the stage set for
Eternity
something we don’t understand
& only
half believe
although
you would probably dance to it if given
half
a chance
As for me I’m convinced it all has
to do with the
bubbles in Mexican glass
fucking
with the way perspective
grinds against the grain of perception
but it only makes me thirsty
&
your heart bends like a palm tree
in
the wind
