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I cannibalize him
Each and every portion,
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I was shaken up
Like soda in a can
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Just a cup of me, sweating out
Sin in a red skirt between my legs
-
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I’ve come home to a late winter
It would seem, so late
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No guards patrol wakeless sinking
Escaping soft onuses of black
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Their sizzled micro heads
Electrocuted unsleeping
-
This corrosion untunes me
How wrong it becomes!
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Her rounded lips,
Glistened provokingly.
-
Running rile streams through wheat
I would swallow you hot off the pan
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How sour the eyes have become,
Their sockets clogged with stink
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In every story told,
There is always a witch.
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Licked with tongue like pussycats
Primping themselves for the mirrors.
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Mere and merciless, you jut like a sore thumb
sketched scary onto Linda’s diaper drawers
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I’m sad like Vivaldi’s violin
-
Milk-like as moonbeams, moving
Graciously without gravity
-
I’m more of a moth
Tangled in time’s silk, gutted thin of our yesteryears.
-
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Gray is the day, barely blebby,
You squint anyway
-
Sniffing each petal,
The aroma is as strong as passing love
-
Just like Juliets,
Who softly demand
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My lovely suitors are attached and teasing, while two remain better than man.
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Liquid clocks, tock swift
Glued cozy around road-killed bellies
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Her cooking always irritated me; Chicken Teriyaki, fixed
with withered brown pork, not white, like you’d reckon,
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We spent lives, living free
Blithely inside slumberous sand palaces
-
A woman always packs them
dingy or pretty,
-
Curled as cribbed babies, hiding blind
In the last instance of the sun.
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The head is a hammer mill
Pounding and constructing like carpenters
-
Served stiff for the eager earth to swallow.
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I had a dream the other night
Sylvia was dying; she was mutilating her insides,
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Do not pinch away passion!
Bury your love below my skirt
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You feature proud cypress
Wistful hair, fluent, flowing
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Raw like a bishops secret...
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there is never pain beneath a waterfall
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I am a black tower each night,
Assisting the sea, painting the waters
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