Sandy Player Biography

It tastes sweet,
A syrupy figure of strawberry juice
Spiralling like a typhoon in the glass,
Tastes sweet as I kiss the rim
...

Why do I ask where to go
When caught like the wolf
Who licks an eskimo's sword?
...

I give my eyes to the stairs as I ascend,
They seem not to be steps, steps, steps, steps,
But one sheet of inclined metal
Willing me to misplace my left foot and slip.
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My love is a red, red pool.
Sanguine infact.
Not a puddle, but a pool,
Something that you can immerse yourself in,
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My faint white wardrobe
Opened with two scarlet handles,
The clothes are on the inside,
Cotton, some silk, housing legions of you.
...