she froths in bathroom mirror her eyes are saints glued to the humming heavens of ceiling'd cocaine stars are and so into a waddling gaze that spaced this the word made flesh
why is it you taste so good so much that this and that bump and grind buoy startled contradictory immaculate roseate the q-tips of guilt the first guilt before or pre-gossip for the love of haste blurts out for god's sake in cultured comic bubbles spilling fear further than the corners of my opiated smile can cling to
Post a Comment