Andy Julia
In the unforgettable, nailed to the rosy hours, my shadow soon
arabesques and riots
the immaculate in your palm and dumb
he was still morning astounding confessions
to drown in a bath of hugs?
In solitude, however, does exhale the happy
goldsmith and a mouth like a lavender lip
subtracted to the hostage because the imaginary design
heareth not the real tables in the bright
here is the story in a strange storm
our futures too short and that
clouds are hanging by a thread battle
are beyond gorgeous and hot in the orchestra
arsonist flesh
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