orgami's Diaryland Diary

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wounded claw rapiers tick

taste the brackish mix
of tin and sour gin

the tablets melt swiftly
and bitter
like snowdrops on the
hot glass in November

take your turn in my arms
honey girl
let me hear your buzz
and flutter
I can see the alpine peaks
of blue granite in those
eastern eyes

hungry wolves devour
what they need
tis not Peters goose
they crave
but fresh saline
crimson tinted

lounge here whilst
time affects all passage
we can canter on the decks
in horse races
practise skeet shooting
from the stern
or watch the black twist
carry swift from seasoned
funnels

longer goes the hours
now you see
go check for yourself in
the mirror
view who is you
if you dare

the polite rouge of
cheek
the perfect lip
the rounded chin
rubenesgue thighs

i think we are high

I think we dare
not

our ceremonies
start

12:50 a.m. - 2008-06-14

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