you're are pushed to the side
until seams align
words sweet plaything do not forget
the tongue that rolls over you and curls into
the bowl that stills there
book stray not from the crooks
in these arms that open to you like question marks
still soft new if not ready
speak to the end of the line about clothing making the terrain
and turning great planes into the hills that haul west to
lick sequins off big queens
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