Underneath ginger sweat, a few trees, the sub caterpillar : an old story
These are snail-crooked stairs
March after march a sweet suspicion
A picture way drawn in the bushes
Storm lightings in the pupils
The blond boy's inspiration
Between the thighs into a flock
Lips tension expiration
It waves across him to her
Like a signal a thousand thrills
A coming back trance round brackets
The ondulation the dance that kills
From far them just them they fuck
Underneath the sheets a white palid scream
And a screen sighing about glory
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