DRAGON’S nightly border whose position in every layer of desire
AS man grasps only if he cannot cling to wings — die not after all –
while men weep.
I glance at a profusion of books, all but decayed, all quickly readied for callers.
-Oh what dying Lung AS fuck — \\it’s too late to die & you want him to die only
-but never as long as he can! her man turned himself into the toast of society.
Oh her man died as they say.she now lives with that man who may never die –
who when she left him said she could not go but not die with him.
call him a devil.
-I just now sent her my half-chocolate heart of lovEburst to be sure she received
it well.
nary a living man she’d even known – he had enough// clipped wings
to fly & ampersand a face to let his feelings show.
-What shall I do?
my Lord with that look in your eyes from your androgynous mouth \i took the sun
inside my pen and wrote cum in bright white and pink letters.
and gripped your hips and took myself inside your pink flower.
It’s not what he seemed to feel, not the least bit dismayed in his very busy life
to see all these very old people coming and going; neither did he wish to frighten them away.
How humans age. Even the youth. All their flesh decayed. Love burst.
:: 04.09.2022 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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