Only clocks know what time it is
He calls out, retreating
into noxious fog where
she can swaddle him
tightly in the sway
of her ambrosial lips
His mind, in aquatic paradise
beats upward and unto itself
he chews thoughtfully
a basted coward with
one free hand
He can see the aquifer
internal wellspring of
her hatelessness
funded by nothing difficult, by
avoidance of all unhappiness
Exeunt, madam
leave this dusty scene in a
push-broom pile and
do as the man advised-
say adieu
26 July 2009
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