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Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
More in Poetry MessengerI save you for my last, my love, as kisses cut the lip-slit moan into the smallest pieces. Adoring every edge I tear- your neck's white throbbing bare beneath deep silver's cold caress.
Your blue-eyed stare bleeds out the hours assembled where my hidden eyes devise the language of your limbs So, they will speak a terror. ![]() |
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