- Non-Erotic Poetry
- instant karma
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speaking
writing in code
pressing my tongue
to the ridged roof
of my mouth as i strain
waiting for that
one perfect word to
roll on out
i don't pick up roget
when i'm here
so its never pretty
and oh so limited
but we both know what
it means when
i say
passion me baby
a just muse who's
starting little fires
all over...little pyro
lovin' the heat
heating me up and
putting me out with
gasoline
my passion burns like
a mountain of tires
it just goes on
for weeks
months even
making clouds of black smoke
that i choke
myself on.
but he likes a slow burn
a constant glow that grows
with every shot of O
the black smoke
and black blood
i'll suck right up without
a worry
i had this disease
before you were born, baby
you just might be my
anti-venom
my comfort niche
not some notch
on my 17.5 viewable
- COMMENTS
variable Xyover 18 years agothat 'word' never looks strained to me. fabulous. i like the analogy with the burning tires.
