In elegant Darwinian dreams, fantasies played from an open suitcase modesty.. Play for me your beastly instrument and torn hair from cells that bleed life..
Kissing hands in dark robed grinning inheritance, as flowers grow in rusty signatures corrupt, each ritual draws man into abysmal functionality, as small things eat our flesh..
There is no tiring maniacal substances.. We had no expectations, tearing words from the night.. Shimmering daffodils plucked fresh as we bathe together in the steam, rolling over our spectacle defiance..
In the land of the North I have lost lovers, in the land inbetween thighs, an insatiable thirst and hunger for broken down libraries, shifted columns and rats, begging for knowledge..
Who am I, thought the masked,
Death Mistress 69..
Fancies and Goodnights,
Miss Fitzdare
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
kizmet:
sexusplexusnexus:
thanks for the well wishes for my new year. i hope yours is going well for you. mine is pretty cool. i like your poem.