Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Woodle With Wildo

The facuet delivers water
to my mouth,
which is cool
and leaves me live.
I hold midnight in my hand,
let the darkness sprays hunger
on my face,
My heart jumps.
I glue my lips to destiny,
I feel his lumps,
we drink vodka breathlessly,
Into Woodle carrying a Wildo.