TROUT   [4] 

David Llewellin [1, 2, 3, 4, ]
 
Fetish 
 
  It was a duvet unwashed of its 
                                                                 past entertainments, a decadent sort of history 
                                                                                    haboured in cloth. 
                                                               "Secret" and secrete, two words of close relation, 
                                                                               bed partners, silhouettes. 
                                                                                Like a sponge, this cloak 
                                                                                pulls experience away to 
                                                                           perhaps a safer core, leaves you 
                                                                             hostage to clues, titillations, 
                                                                             puzzling stains, unexplained 
                                                                                     species of scent. 
                                                                Seems you can't help but bury your nose in this 
                                                                            complexity, suck it in mad, like 
                                                                       respiration was going out of fashion. 
                                                                                  How to make the past 
                                                                                     lucid once more. 
  
   © 1998   

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