When the sun falls down, and the night gathers once again its stilling cold embrace. The slow frost blow-touch Mr. Blue Collar snores fast asleep. Mingling with the only true relaxation that his present life gets. Dark catnaps in the middle of harvest. Crop circles writing the rye fields. The Ergot Prince reeks raging pestilence. Greek ancestors warrant this theory. My minister strolls amongst the shadows. Newspaper tucked securely underarm. Sunglasses boosting morale. His boyfriend waits graciously. Palms moist anticipating his gentle lord. Who will soon grow bored enough. Enough to fetch another. Here comes a raised orb Show light on bitter pinched faces These slumbering sinners But I am awake forever Coupling the pages so tart and bitter. See them upon that day of rest? Shaking hands Smiling cheeks all flush Can you smell the sweat upon their chests? Feel the sheets soaking up our love? Hearing the rich choruses droop from above Nightmilk sunblood lust odd Just drown like the kitten I killed at five. Kite strung its purr neck Bye bye Ebony Fly high! Pruned the rose bush Fingers knowing her insides. Knees, getting it on her mud. Sunset smooths against my features Tugging at my wrinkle less guesses Darkening my hair & upping her dresses Filling solid lungs with sweet aroma Crying feast, and children carving squash Blasts of color I fall back, then through and in.