THE GARDEN

The oracle speaks:

Go Goddess,

chant my wants on your wind;

elaborate fluff & lazy diamond dreams,

whisper me with delirious honey,

drive me to drunk, to drool,

I will lick language languid

from the beauty of your breast.

Sordid is screaming

but I hear a sweet symphony

has grow upon

those smooth skins

of your garden.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly with the aid of the oracle, obviously

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