December 5th, 2011

Transport now the tunnel. Long one. North-like. So to play when in. To play when dark.
The horn. Horn crawling the half pipe walls. Long walk thus. No fear, but. Anxiety, possibly. Stuttering blowing ensues then. And how long! Oh my. Long it comes and breathes through your lungs. Don’t stop. Someone, something hears it long away. The endless oldless hope of desire. Long told. Keeping the horn lips touched. Unsuspecting then, lips sucked, tongue in – horning that pipe.
It won’t end. Mustn’t. Fearless fucker.

[audio:|titles=come home]

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