AS FRONDS DRY UP—HIS RESOLVE IT DOESN’T

would mastíkha be render, I’d render
us slapping and sticky in its render

it, sticky and clear, thick and no bother
to us two, rolling over and under

rather, are we cowled ascetics over
each other, brother monks, resin friender?

unlike grape must that must leech most under
ascetic feet, calves and thighs, resiner

with movements like pistons, at times higher
then lower, we tap gum tree’s sap harder

the sap, hardening to sharp balls, color
sulfur, much like skin after a bruiser

the back of thigh browner, in grips too tight
of myrtle branches, buckthorn bark, scratcher

watch out how an open throat that swallows
it would start to scratch! the stealth poisoner

fruits, sap, or your finish when you finish
it doesn’t matter, throat insides much warmer

movements of chests were direct and stronger
as a resined thumb grips thigh and wet hair

and finish, you do, billygoat jumper!
in sheets rumpled like shrubs of rock samphire

the leaves, like fronds, bitterer the greener
browner and tastier when brinier

in maquis and garrigues of kritama
samphire . sampierre . saint pete . st pierre!

the tamarisk treelimb, stubborn curler!
like your bunched toes gripping sheets the tighter

even as you cum and finish, and then
later I finish and cum, and grip under

salt cedar, samphire, sampierre, the sweet
hairy legs and the weirdly hairless feet!

but that was last March : last month, the leaver—
boy with big eyes returns much too later

‍ ‍Dumbfuck MakMak! Everlasting Sadsack!
That is me, eyeing a Greek map over!