flaccid
my droopy blue
suede
strap on
little anchors
in clouds
tiny worms with wings
choke the fly
crows
like bags of black keys
not meant to amuse
you
never know when to screw
test
fuck it with lips
and teeth
slashed
less like price,
more like tires
named for rain and snow
tiptoe thru
the sage brush,caress the raw mess
left by
deep cuts
caressing and counting on you
has never been what to do
This seems to be about a dead wasp nest....is the she the queen of the nest?
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