Kiss me beneath My
Feelings and I won't tell the
Sky apart from your upper
Back. Glide through me with
Epic Movements and summer
Will dine in our torn metal
Homes. We will become the
Parody of disasters rhyme.
Im glad for your constant
And dry for your taste.
Your my Deperate wildflower
shining The velvet glory of
Mistakes and untaken
Scents.
Poisoned doors will fulfill
The muscular teardrop
And the sacral independence
Of our bricked throats will
Transpire into our
Nothing freedom.
There; we will hold our
Ground again.
