torn labels

in a tavern
slip a
bit of a dirty word
bit of cucumber & chilled vodka

to a loft
says moves a
bit of lemon ambition
bit of mahogany stretch 

dear dirty, how could that be
shoulders loosen straps as slips
go south on a sofa 

the walls conduct a high thread-count
of pinkinsh symphony

hours hand
no limousine
but into th sound of night
trains slip by as lips
of handblown glass

                                (
                                 need
                                 oh baker, I am your bread

photos of disgust but airtight and
perfume fades lovingly
in th crack of a finger
                         moves in
                         shadows crane
                         as alone smokes     alone

                         spring blooms
                         in winter sweat
falls over
cliffs
railings
ravines
                        ~flatline
smile
laugh
blush a little   lie
back and stare   stranger

# posted by hardyf : 20:18