Churning, Churning, The Waters Seep and Sway
how loud your heart is calling, love,
how close the darkness at your breast,
how hectic are the rivers, love,
drawn through your dying wrist.
and love, what heat your frail skin hides,
as pure as salt, as sweet as death,
and in the dark the red moon rides
the foxfire of your breath.
z out
how close the darkness at your breast,
how hectic are the rivers, love,
drawn through your dying wrist.
and love, what heat your frail skin hides,
as pure as salt, as sweet as death,
and in the dark the red moon rides
the foxfire of your breath.
z out
1 Comments:
Hey asshole, let's make a deal:
You update your blog, and I'll stop calling your mom a whore.
The correct term is prostitute.
-Ben
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