Hands.

I'm really not sure about this. It was just one of those, 'Hey, I've got an idea and I'm just going to go for it here at two o'clock in the morning.'
Do you hate it? Do you like it? I'm not sure what to think.

Shed perfume in a baby’s

Mouth as it teethes,

Swim and flourish

In theme park bacteria,

Find refuge under latch-hooked wool,

Trusted a twin and

Fumbled for more than a football.

Been around the edges of

Everywhere

Worth printing.

Scraped, scratched, and smacked

To carve or redden

A place in this world.

Have stolentreasuredcoddledsacrificeddismembered.

Cracked and tinted

From self tanner.

Adorned and

Will be taken for granted

Every Tuesday

Til the end of never.

Get Me There.

Desert compulsion
Sucks
As life twists
Two hundred by two hundred.
A little box of bipolar
Weather
Bloated and lovesick with moisture.
Some various battlecries
Sing out through my pores
And toughen conjectures of
Five
Ten
Twenty revolutions.
Those Aztecs worshipped
The sun
While it baked them wholeheartedly into the ground.
Damn lucky, dusty souls.