little things

nearer: breath of my breath:take not thy tingling

limbs from me:make my pain their crazy meal

letting thy tigers of smooth sweetness steal

slowly in dumb blossoms of new mingling:

deeper: blood of my blood:with upwardering 

swiftness plunge these leopards of white dream

in the glad flesh of my fear:carve an evilfringing

flower of madness on gritted lips

and on sprawled eyes squirming with light insane

chisel the killing flame that dizzily grips.

Querying greys between mouthed houses curl

thirstily.       Dead stars stink.      dawn.      Inane,

the poetic carcass of a girl