One nostril to another

What am I doing in there?
In a plain of mangled hair
some would watch the cougars leap
out into the hunting air
where a cold gene feathered
up into a silo of hunger
into a marble beak, then
folded like yours into a moist breach.
Now curved like a pair of holes
in a watching cliff-face of stone

where enter breath and soul alike
& exits a feeling shake.
Is it hot in there? Does it bake
together with me in your bladed nose?
Will you answer me or like tissue
will you bow, & fold, alkaline
like the groin you crave to hold
in this the dark cave flushed of growth?
If I walk further cramped and cripple
will you hold my hand & your breath a little?

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~ by Jeremy on July 10, 2010.

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