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May 7, 2013


Taking wine, taking bread, with a tilt of your head.
And you’re wet, but I’m bored.
By the way you adore me.
So I bury my face into the scent of your neck.
Dream of red hair in my hand.
Taking neither nourishment nor punishment.
From the act or the actor.
As I run my finger to the top of your leg.
To trace there a constellation, in silk.
An aberration of the milk of the skies.
You cried and you called and I bit my nails to the quick.
The fucking beautiful mess that I’ve made of it all.
And if you think the whole thing’s turned to shit.
Witness, my love, what lies beneath.
‘Cause we both know I can lie.
Know I was born to it.
But you can’t lie to yourself when you sleep.
And know that, recently, it’s all that I do.
I love her.
You love me.
I love you.


From → Poetry

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