an animate of the whorling vices
abacus needs
this nude bone every string snapped so lovely
flint sink in this peat bed
set our rash of lips and oiling
you are a love hiss I am not
poems and words
an animate of the whorling vices
abacus needs
this nude bone every string snapped so lovely
flint sink in this peat bed
set our rash of lips and oiling
you are a love hiss I am not