Uncategorized

Desiring one for the sake 
of these willowed lips, 
dried by tasteless 
and unfiltered desperation. 
Watching the cursive 
float through air 
on the curve of your tongue, 
desiring a matched speech —
not much of a writer with 
hands cramping. 
A step above fellowship 
and a kneel before 
lust. 

Clever, you.

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