Fairer for the distance
the sea's face. He
hates you very much, grows
distant, rounds the square
peg, eventually.
Scribbling old pen
nubs up to your face,
loves as much as sea
in going hates; bites
the metal back in kissing
in indifference, ink; cheek.
This is some cold tattoo. When
you are a dead bitch bloated
in the water, a very large
urn would seem wonderful.
