Could anyone be bothered pressing these
flecks of leaf and breakfast smudges and wattle pollen
in one tidy package vanquished with a smirk?

i thought you could tell me.
Sometimes I lick the underside of
his person as a series of drawings

de luxe tongueless umber fur arrows,
in the thin place between the word and the thing,
our tongues are now maple syrup.

She thought the spaces suggested only limited things (meaning you,
the shadow of a dog on the wall. He knows,
beseech ye; yes, that that is true is true...