The octave of us is an avenue of blackbirds with marbolized wings As the blacksnake licks the bobcat in a herculean daze. Your impotent homeland spread the last deep'sea of freckles on your icey, olive face. Your blemished hands belong on you like Auburn liqueur on pale blue tablecloths. I swim in the black of your eye until it liquifies like blues in autumn. We talk like friends of jewel and berry bandits Erasing halls of bored handwriting.
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Updated Thursday, 04-Mar-2004 14:58:30 PST