fly
by tanner brockwell
fly
the trailing embers
of night
taken in a swirl
of the up drafting heat
and hurled
in the unofficial
hurried and slow
disengagement of space
that dwindle tome
the pages stuck
with phosphorous or water
burning like passion
or slick and smooth
silk met skin
and tan comfort swam
like the perch
deadly sure
with fangs outspoke
there is apple
here is sweet
for long as known
or long to meet
the sand is sure
sure [...]
