More or less I understand
your mouth so mighty and handsome:
In the arms of a shorn haired Samson.
In Timnah riddled in robes of the south
and that rotting lion's yawning mouth,
whose welling eyes and welling crotch,
will welling, putrid air be lost
to burst of hide and hive explode
to swarm of needles, teeth. And blood,
in blushed mist of rising souls,
steaming streams departing, rose
for an honor cold
as their hot deflated molds
fell in Ashkelon of Philistines
for your mouth full of bees;
Eater with a mouth full of honey.
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