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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

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I 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.

10100708A-Don-t-Ever-Love-Me-Posters.jpg
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