Afternoon, my odd skin and sharp sin
I write for you sheath and sublime ashes
Afternoon, I bless, you and your limping lumps
Afternoon, I blush, on my wrinkled cheeks and onion crystals
I mix and match your wooden graves and cloud born voyages
There is an air of wounded worms and curled up hairs
There is plenty of tissues unborn in your kernels
There is a rage of poison rushing in your vessels
Afternoon, I shall leave your arrogant lashes
Afternoon, there is always a weather after your skirmish
Afternoon, I am nothing but a gentle ash on your furnace
Afternoon, let me kiss your hungry fissures on my skinless skies
Afternoon, I write a wounded word waking up you in a whirlpool