a project of skill-less and dead-author labor turned dead-text turned dead-reader, love
affair with space, some cloud to influx information without regard for human eyes. &poetry
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
If You Can't You Said You Won't
Lay your temple on your knee and pee.
I bury my feet in hair and make a nest there.
Forehead, middle, third eye--she called it lesbian erotica.
Because, my wetness wet her wetness--but, it wasn't.
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