Last Weekend
soft, it wants to help
lift me out, but who?
besides it he placed
he’d gone this far, he wasn’t backing out
Convinced, you strip
And I’m convinced
It is the best tea that I will ever taste
and play a very
hard on each other
no snare to snag it
exhausted, you let
she raises her clamshell covered breasts
She’d been trying to say it all weekend, but only
up the last of their camping gear, had it finally come
host of names
about the fish he’s caught
but everyone is jumping up or down
No sex, Do this on
palms up, stare at
Nothing big
cold on her face and the crunch of
of peace, a field of war, a pagan
is a mirror to who we are
Written sometime in 2007 by Abram Deslauriers.