your whores are solipsists;
I have interest in none
of them.
it is your bones
which tilt my head,
turn my nipples rosy red.
It lasts-say-eleven seconds,
at its best beast,
cherry pitted finest,
tweaked.
lifetimes are relative; just ask
your Uncle in Tokyo,
the one with the indigo rose.
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the picture really completes this poim. will you?
ReplyDeleteA very evocative poem V.
ReplyDeleteI feel a need for a trip through the catacombs.
seraph
The title alone is almost enough, and yet then. . .there's your words. Powerfully eviscerating as usual.
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