…wheat? i say, i say,

listen to the foghorn

as its pullingout the

honeybuzz of honey(s)beez,

when honeys done

come back in towne,

’tis just enough to

make me want to touch her                                                                                                     tender honey -buns & suckle                                                                                                                on her honey -lobes & chutes,

& floom until, while bending                                                                                                     down, she plants a roe: a liquidkiss                                                                                             upon my mind & lips;

&, in my eye, her thighs

define a vacant/acre, fertile’nuff

to be tilled until eyes see her,

yet, again, til(l) then,

the moron pump…-er…knuckles rye…

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s