the isle of hunger throbs

rolling dunes and breathing brush

the heaviness of the air’s heat is licking the necks

buzzing at the skull’s chops in the ethereal drip

the hands are slipping from

the back’s rough edges

slick on the hull of the heart

rattling the bones

and holding love by the throat

the face is running from the sockets

the tongue lifting the cheek

and peeling back her skin

the slightest of wavering in the hips

and the dry swell of bodies

thrusts the spirit into the frothing of rest

broiling in the deep salts

and moves us forth

orange and blues into the minds

whines in the dark and sonic raptures

gripping your chest in the dark bed

our nest is coiled in cottons and the depths of silk

she’s like a groaning sea that creaks and bends along fingertip steps

wherefor the rivers of blood

the boys with sticks and

hunters of pigs in their wiry cages

the palms breathe the night air

draped over the hip corners

leaves

kissing the ground

and reaching for the muddled sand’s grains

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