You're the Rosacea Crown
On a Messiah of Viscera
Clenched in my Teeth
Your Swollen Clit
Nosebleeds
So sweet are We
The Salt reeks of Skeet in the Sheets
My Tongue seeks you out like a Pedipalp
Our Shells are withered and ready to merge like Hydrophobic Side Chains
I want to crawl into your Mouth like your Mouth is a Body Bag
The Light Chains glimmer on our Electrophoresis
I want You to be my Broken Fingers dialing 911
Be my Fever Rash Dream
On a Throne of Deceit
Disregard my No and become my Defeat

02/25/2011

Posted on 02/26/2011
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