Camera-esque

There is a motion of lint under the imprint of your disguise.
It seems like thought and control is beyond clockwise.

Let me flow down like a river.
Beneath the rocks and sunken boats.

Let me flow down softly against the region of your body.
Let my lips kiss every pore on the landscape of your skin.

There is a colorless image, underground and rare.
Her smile, slightly beyond despair.

The Redskin Poet