Glue Comb Mirror Ice
Published 1 year ago
They took their time,
never wanting to leave,
slick track change,
gallons to the sleeve.
April in the castle,
bottles two then nine,
tearing into slumber,
empty to the dime.
A rest upon the exit,
arrest would not decay,
the carpel now encumbered,
silking no delay.
Shadows burning teeth,
wide foaming grins,
coiled 'round the rafters,
answers under fins.
Wanting, waiting,
it wasn't even there,
Searching, diverging,
borrowed everywhere.
And when it hasn't sounded,
nothing ever ripens,
thinking beyond measure,
folding into lichens.
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