четвъртък, 2 юли 2015 г.

25.

let’s buff the little cossets
of our so neatly arranged days
(our so neatly arranged thoughts)
and then allow the sun to burn our hands
and our thighs and that small gap
between our smiles
into a wondrous chaos of black and gold

even better
let’s have our skin tattooed
with the sweltering heat
of all the possible roads we can stray on
so whenever we are touched by fellows
(who don’t know what it means to get lost
and what it means to be found
and how it feels to rule over the tides of reason)
their fingertips would get scars
from being stabbed
by the snarling disobedience of our cells



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