printed prose which
raise scars for your pleasure
i write brail for the deaf
but you want light reading tonight
paper cuts,
frozen open from
reread erotic epistle
melting for familiar friction between us
i am a prisoner
shackled to my own responses
victim of your 34 c/sent posion
reluctant words penned
in fire for your senses
if your bite's on my neck
i'll know you liked what i wrote.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Maybe it's not enough to know yourself, or maybe it's too much.
1 comment:
ah, you just changed this.
thanks for your note, i miss reading you as well.
i like the paper cuts bit. keep doing what you do; thinking people make the world real.
Post a Comment