framed jezabel soul stretched, pressed between glass and board, bordered by what? i know only that a frame now captures two sheets of shimmering, slinking, dripping essence, the poems you drew from my tongue, that tripped over lips in their hurry to slip into your ear and slide down your throat. and now you have a whole boquet of these paper flowers, dancing words, much too big to slide stoically between glass and board, too powerful to press for display. will you fondle it fondly, will you think of me as words turn, languidly swaying, rivers flowing in my strange tongue, will you taste it, as it slowly rolls into you? will you feel me inside you then? 030903 what's it to you? who go blather from