By | 1 October 2010

i lap your macadamia stroll
i espy the roof rack of the world
i try on sunglasses, a sign of your formal awareness
anyway you’re bubbly, becalmed as wool

i find in my head no tartan gift wrap
i fuck around in your wax dreams, in your opinions
your vaseline affixed to my clothes
my jaw speculates

your gorgon girls venture nakeder
a shark net hole, a smoker, a maverick snorkeler
both you and i are fictional

i bend your spine like a talking point
we joust sand like djinns
the day bleaches your umbers

i am your footnote
i am your bank queue
i hunt your legs for thunder

you are my party spider
you are my lime tea, my vapour traversal
you’re a tool
you enter me like a detail

i am bereft of for-sale signs, side-paths
i am a picnic of wind
dwindle me, rub me with quarters
i straggle

you are the bream that flounders
i am you without worries
you blow across this sentence where
i am telegraphed whole

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