by Eric Fisher Stone
Globs of butter, wet goblins, they rub
mouths lubed on blue lichen,
bellies grinding slow rivers
over humid mud, glugging air,
slugs measured in slimy lust
for dew, hedonist pleasure-monks,
paths slick with carnal lard, joy swelled
in oily organs, jellying hearts
gorged on Earth’s heaping gift.
1 comment:
Marvelous!
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