HAVE ME
turn, my luck; it swans and lisps knocking heads like boys bearing the whites of her bed rosemary wrists—sassafras— speak releasing sound love me as you loved unlace— even abrading blood on the glove sparring rain upon the one leafed clover, rise full of the cleaving coward low-down dull on the gossiping lawns to deny the early morn who says that waking keeps you young
tsk tsk tsk
tick
5