WHEN YOU ENTER HER ARE YOU MASTER OF THE HOUSE OR AN INTRUDER?
I CAN STILL HEAR DEATH CLOSE TO MY HOSPITAL BED, WHISPERING, "LATER."
ICY RAIN AND WIND NUMB MY LIPS, AND I THINK OF THE LIES IN YOUR KISS.
IF I WERE SOBER JUST ONE WEEK, I'D CELEBRATE WITH LOTS OF WHISKEY.
HER NECK IN DESIRE, FROM PALE TO PINK TO SCARLET: COLD MATCH INTO FIRE.
SEASHELL IN THE SAND, PINK AND CURLED LIKE YOUR NAVEL: I BLOW IT A KISS.
WHEN PASSION FLOWERS, BLOOMS AND BLOSSOMS IN HER LOINS, I GATHER BOUQUETS.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
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A SELF UNSHARED SHRIVELS.