makes suffer, pricks to camorated
a selection of eye rod/cone
swoops: the blood singulars, twofed
lip mini-smacks also along smooth
finger traps where concave cusps must
fatten ‘n then blather up a soothe
anti-sear scotoma larch lust
no no these’ll not peg down
that’s left to the yew its roots
suturing undeads lest homegrown
resurrected luke warm half truths
wane. Hold. Hearts(') rent wood
wrought raw broodings but ought ally
2 comments:
Slap that sonnet silly. Funny write!!
I love this. Best damn thing I've read in a while.
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