Could be miss you could be mask.
Is it next time yet? Round comes the boy
saying let’s eat the whole thing more.

Only: sound fennels its ripened nut
and clings from inside, shows
me how to spine to the sun I seek.

Inside the pharmacy door —
soap to odor the shelves, bottles to
quiver each time the sky hums. Their

names are cartwheel, are artery are sugar-
in-the-mouth. Does the boy have to come
round? His name must only be desire now.

Boy, what is your must, your utterly? Why
pebble my pane with your yellow when it
takes all of my blood just to daughter you.