words make walls they are married, i gather, and have met for breakfast coffee. he settles behind a Guardian, and a look of disgust. she fingers a croissant, trying to catch the eye
king for a day there is a couple slurring their way toward the restroom. she has large golden breasts, swinging free of her crumpled dress. he has the slack-jawed grin,
greenland and beneath me, you lay like a fingerprint jewel. a world of white dreams, clasped to a quiet pause. man has not touched you here. like a wish not yet whispered,
baby capers i knew a girl once, who kept a spunk jar. one that she filled from cold morning condoms, or spat leisurely from her hot mouth. originally, it had contained tartare sauce