He follows her with his voice; she sees him with her skin,
and drinks him with her hands, in the storm touch which
will crush his chest against her breast. The poppies pour
their juice in the red rain which will crack, in time, all o-
ther things. She drinks him with her hands. He follows
with her breast. She sees him with his chest, in this bo-
dy not her own, but which, in the night, is hers. Like the
heat that swells all things, she sings the night with him.
He follows her with his voice; she sees him with her skin
Larissa Shmailo (http://myspace.com/larissaworld)
"The poet, like the lover, is a menace on the assembly line."
-Rollo May
_http://_ (http://larissashmailo.blogspot.com/)
_www.myspace.com/thenonetworld_ (http://www.myspace.com/thenonetworld)
_http://larissashmailo.blogspot.com_ (http://larissashmailo.blogspot.com/)
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