As a man in heat
Saddled by a bridal bit by chomps bled so pale over the chaps slapping sticks to spark stuck a step behind
Tweet till dumb and needles deep
Quarantine of us now:
we always want to do it again. To pretend, we dip in again
Wavering for waves to be
Teetering dumb-tumble weeds
Quivering for the quills to be sent by pork for which we pine, a surety we’re still a step behind
Bleating Harps 