Febrose Poem by Heidi Lynn Staples

Who will grow thirst? Whose will will stand breathe cry beside the bade as the ever
takes their other over? He is the best lore I'm feverish glad. There is a red hot ever
between us.
Who of us will thirst heed the world's dread, Not tethered in the lover's face? I
love his boy. I've known him senses heat as a ladled body. We have a call together.
Is skien oft and all.
The end is night, he sways when he talks, leans in his slip at nigh. In my tearing
rubbled nautical mere, he burns over with a sight (he us quit at sigh) and O out the I
door. Adored. A door bell rang. The boy ran. Low. He feels
'lo!'
I love the boy. He laughs with a
'hawk!' 'hawk!' 'hawk!'
He seizes in the sky an impressive circling
'haw!'