Though his slate gray eyes are as
still and un-mattered as the oceanjust below lies thatlittle yawn mawwith its red bud spillingunquenchable complaint against
the insult of air on new skin.
Undulant lips leeching the breast’sdeepest veinsof their spun sugar magma.
this tiny eruption undoing the stayed worldmaking our calmgeography as strangeas the craters of the moon.