yes, blue please

 Oh that blue I am all of it, feverish, they are talking about eating a tongue/ they are saying it is rude to eat a tongue

In the corner is a smooth blue creature I want to touch,certainly.

now they are recalling how they once covered their elbows because it was civil

I am feverish, the sound of the word blue

I'm listening

how much is improvised versus composed

A creatures smooth blue hands, my blue veins--

the see-throughable-ness of my thigh in the light

I hear a blue sax in the background

it happened in the middle of a hiphop song

Now they are talking about beautfiul blue brains/ the old oak is the beautiful thing 

its rough skin on my face, a textured blue

It all lasts forty minutes: this blue

conversation. A man on the radio is grateful for all of it--

her fingers along the wettened blue clay.

something magical  

She is feverish, blue-spined

dare I say ascending

to holy, blue, sainted

There is a smooth

blue creature in the corner

she wants to touch

its bald, blue head