He will become a kind of revolutionary a superior and dedicated gangster I dangle it in crayon the skin of my imagined
Petty shrines on the spines of wands that say I’m finally tending to my true cravings
I crave a heated blue a chemiluminescent human naked in his own dayglow
The taste of sea and peaches
The taste of seeing peaches
The dried blood after he punches and we fuck I burn on the alter and it becomes such candy
Coated rainbows like the one over the swamp the day we met the jokes about dirt and heavy petting
The taste of swamp and palpitations and peaches so fuzzy so fussy so neat
