In the carpeted acres

The only thing not thirsty
in the desert is a cactus
like my mother’s nipples
and not even omnipotent sand
may lay on them its hand.

But the conversation of the slug
that gives each cavern purpose
and my father his too
knows to utter my name
to the bristles kissed tame

who bow, and break, and boil
in their acres of bedroom and soil.

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~ by Jeremy on February 1, 2011.

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