this proud flesh
oh how it starts to slip
just when i've found
some sort-of-centre
some sort-of-grip
sounds like pissing away, unengaged
cloudy vessel in a matte, nocturnal dream
almost-touched, potential
quickly yanked back, hard to breath
lists, deadlines, routines, bargaining
already moving
shrieking, something impressive
fat and throbbing and bothered
fist-round, fish-lured
big big, bitty bite
when i get that feeling...
even a shadow will do
loaded-up, tempting domestic weapon
miss the way he thinks
disturbed preferences
whetted, sugared-up schoolgirl appetite
i'm going with my finger
glassy-eye'd, powdered ring
outta outta outta sight
not able to judge
disorienting little hall
convinced myself of...
something
the concavity of my thoughts
could eat me alive