Tapered fingers lace around the gulp
And proclaim the fluffy sundial mine,
At least for love.
Trace the eggshell rift and masturbate
these lightening storms.
He banged the complaing projector shouting
'YOU BASTARD, you stole my idea,
From my mind, plucked it before it had
a chance to breathe' Back to the dessert
Of reclusive clay pipes and cluttered boxes.
And now mother's muzzle begins to smile,
the blue dress draws back, returning waves
That comb the shore.