The slowly poisoning nut

Almond? Rather a handful of bliss,
each dot on their palms, each psalm
the wet dream of goats holding here
where horses laid too
on the hay they blew
stroking those muscles on a trip
through species, into man.
Twenty fingers to grope with
in this air of barks and yelps
hearing dogs who have no help,
unlike my lap, your marble seat
going tarnished lately as it
starves for pressure to receive.

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~ by Jeremy on January 2, 2011.

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