My language to your teeth
It's a fraise it's a rose, a rose that opens and
Collapses, crushed
The break syntactic, modifier dangling
For I have changed mouths exchanged mine for this bloom
But wet, you know, like song, paroles, one term, then two
Touch the toi of your mouth topping out
A tip of my hat
A thumb, an annulaire
Bringing pressure to bear on
The ridge like a vague, an inverted v
I'm drinking your draught
Bouche bout en bout, but blue, bue
Whatever, métro Sèvres-
Babylone, tes coupes aux lèvres
Rub rough just enough the press of
Oh there's water
Just enough
Not too much
Just to drink (me) not to drown (me)
Verbs swallowed in all our suavia
A tribute to the others, linking
Us to baby-coloured acts
And apostles' flesh, the chair being
Yours, and suasion enough
Surf's up
