for you sigs
Sigs, linus, treading your blanket endless,
Sleeping in front of dead televisions,
Drinking Dr. Pepper,
Cleaning the lint out of my hairy belly,
Smelling of eggroll and peanut butter.
Hands of precision,
hands, old and weathered, look that way;
Hands that create art, press my finger into flesh.
Black now shorter hair. A black frame for a face of peach.
Black down there too. Eyebrows like eyelashes and eyelids.
With your mockery mouth in missionary times.
(my ware house has my acoustic spoon)
Should we live together for ever? Best of friends? Lovers for life? Should I let you sleep, unawake, to dream endless dreams?