I first saw you the next morning. The mallard realized it was—-no, about 6:30. Black I admire. I went leather. Others soft.
Smelling good, his private school. Like wifely mandala. Didn't want to sniff her brassiere. Even I who had no lover. You are his private nun.
I see the pieces, her dried juices. The mirror of your madness, nomad man. Girls in your worship. No longer us.
Young woman dressed in white shoes. A stench them up made dotted. Instead I'd lay the postman. Found I enjoyed "vice-versa."
Follow your saint. Pray to him, not Jesus' nun. Touch you or no, lover.
I saw two perky breasts. Get in her Volvo. In the backseat, bras and panties. She wore red vestments, came to him.
The girl at the taco made me feel like I couldn't although to others you are Chihuahua and he charlatan. Texas nun and teary clown running soul.
I dumped the contents, smelled of her dried juices, where poetry ends and birds cage in creek. You are of the I live there praying for the girl. Spirit you are like forever he went. Menstrual blood didn't bother him.
Way we remember world, the girl at the Salvation Army or do I linger? Blue mini and a plaid floor giraffe negligee.
Volvo the kimono. I didn't sleep. You young and beautiful nun. Plaid housed the night.
Flat-bellied nun. She taught at his private school for girls. Love is my witness...sometimes I feel, whether she knot them up. Pretend I wanted that skirt or jeans were her dog like man said on tv.
Angels wet with whipping, I prostrate myself before private nun. Miss Nancy lost in reverie. Pink poet's shirt and black dress. When first I saw you, I realized it was no longer nylon kabuki.
I was a dog savoring pure girl. Reality among wanderers, Miss Nancy. Miss Ann. Heloise, the famous nun of her day. He was your messiah. My feet a gift.
Whether she meant or a couple blocks away, I saw a young woman drive off a broken kaleidoscope. Silhouette not Buddha's nun. I want to know: how far is your heart coyote?
The pink mystery girl love to have the poet's shirt standing in them. Brown town one day I saw a small white bra peeking out as if Calliope looking into the gun, saw her silhouetted. The girls in these his moments of nun. I didn't sleep that night and the floral motif, ornamented with lace.
Autumn shall you all Asian and I share and Buddha's nun. Black nun. I decided that day she must have needed, smelled so good.
When first I saw you—-not the way we remember it—-
White Volvo and your silhouette. White blouse and black dress. Black coffee and leather scent.
The dream of a duck. I, too, want to be fed.