YOUR SHEETS ARE
Without a doubt; the trench is from
me. I walked this cavern, delicately.
And once before - you can probably
recall - we talked like this for hours.
I can say now what I didn't say then:
endives are calcium to a heart made
of stone? I like to make things up,
confound the illicit misses of my
heart. I may have been the archer
who posed for the pose of a God.
Apheter, known as Apollo. Acher,
meaning 'let loose' in their own
language. All this stuff really
baffles me : and what is the
point of a God if it won't
speak freely? All this
silence gets spooky.
An onerous burden to carry.
Instead, I'm lying down on your bed.
Your sheets are Wamsutta, baby.