
Thank you God,
for your perfect creation.
With skin as soft and pale as moonligt,
the bones beneath her skin
tangling and rearranging,
rising along the iliac crest,
and dipping into the clavicles.
Thank for the rhythm of her movements
curling...
sprawling...
Her contours lapping like waves around the BLANKETS.
She is yours,
she is perfect,
a TEMPLE,
with air spilling over her temples.
Pressed against her I can hear ETERNITY...
hollow, lonely spaces and currents
that churn ceaselessly...
And the fallen snow welcomes
the falling snow
with a whispered "hush".
3 comentários:
...
I'm falling down
falling down
down on the ground
...
air . napalm love...
are you falling in love?
that's nice...i guess...
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