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January 21, 2013


Fire and ice and purple rain.
The heart and mind, let both be thrown.
Before the Guns of Navarone.
For there’s poetry in purity.
But also beauty in the blunt.
All I wanted was to eat your cunt.

And, honey, hear your hymn to her.
Hear you beat that drum.
As taut as bloated ground flesh.
All your suffrage and your anger.
At the girl that you’ve become.
Bending to pick up her dress.

I wanted to reduce you, entirely.
That you wouldn’t love me anymore.
So I could climb in there, after.
Laying naked on your floor

See you writhe and, a little, die.
Lick the silk upon your thigh.
See time collapse.
And then snap back.
In the centre of your eye.
See you reach and plead that I might hold you.
In that fatal way that holds the sky above us.
And I can’t stand the naked greed.
In the centre of your eye.


From → Poetry

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