I can see. I can see. Can you?
The destroying angel, cumming. Cumming.
Cumming. Landing. Do you know the breadth?
How far the wings reach when wind licks the tails
of their edges? I want to show you. I want!
Duck under and get. Frosty. Believe.
At their edges, a tongue lick.
What are you afraid of? Nose to stone.
Sweat beaded nose to smooth stone.
Lips parted. Buds and minuscule hills of tongue
along the crest of your pink hilltop. Dew
& humidity breathed along the grass.
Cotton bison near your
Tracing plate armor. Around the compound
mice dance and play.
The angel winds. Shift to kiss.
A proper remembrance. Right and good.
Do you
compound fractures
never had it this good
where you shit
mathematical modeling engines for
kissing your toes
to speak to satellites
computer aided design for what
no one knows.
You are not permitted to leave.
