Slippery Sam, docks off and cold
went tracing, dungarees abounding, slave
to his wet briefs, seemingly sense sold –
encountering leaf and sea, an ocean wave
horriplating rocks and the dusty yellow smell
as in liquid splurtings or pollination save
that in all likelihood, realizing his clueless spell
moiled foam all over his face, white trouble
leaky spit careless and dripping shell,
a severe denial of his heart – its ceaseless rubble.

I frowned as I looked at slippery Sam how red
were both my lips and his, the smoky emerging lust
that shivers the foundations of the soul, an inky thread
singing vibrating between he and I, the neck’s forward thrust
and automatic jabs. Sam and I had long been together,
nearly always clasping, eternally clasping
standing and reeling in arms prognosticating weather
and before we realized- had both died- our tricky fasting.


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