Feudal Futile. Chivalric,
This abstinance we've adopted,
This flesh to flesh to flesh
But guilt is like the wetness
Gathering, filling, overflowing
between my knees closed.
Sometimes I hate you
For not touching me
And that wounded child
So clearly outlined behind blue-green
Glass tempts me like a target.
Someone I want to bruise, again,
Because you don't feel safe enough
To take me, quick,
Before the dirt collects again.

04/11/2006

Posted on 04/11/2006
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