warm crescent roll,eager tongue kind of day
in America
a surreal arousal waits
just outside the glass
on the streets
lined with the algebras
of the individual
words follow
the lead straw
and mud brigades
march tide oceans
finger rivers
brick buildings here
rust with iron lungs
and cages of collapse
booms into the busts
and serenades
in slow shuffle steps
in lines of soup kitchens
everyone's bitching
that there isn't enough
to eat or enough to spread
the warmest lies on bread
to turn the mold
into cakes and ales
and the rolling royal heads
that prevail as showpieces here
on shiny coins
with cheaper metals
and the thinning veils
of promises burning
just out of reach
as some people will
still want to put out
the forest fires
I'd rather pee gasoline on them
tremble sparking lark velvet skins
in close quarter whispers
that say just open the window
and the let the burgeoning day
smell what we painted
the night
between
our dreams
and desires
to be as
simple
as your legs
wrapped
around my neck
my hands
beneath you
pulling you into
my tongue
finding sharp
edges of abandon
where your rolling tide
crescent cups me
another ride
EJR ©
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