A whore for the limelight, with dry eyes
covered by the door her
cries wiped the floorboards before his wide eyes.
And she loved to despise my blurred line of enough,
pulling her damp panties by
her thighs with hands squeezed and cries of 'ENOUGH!'
Her black nails sense old burlesque, as her last tale
still burned in red braille- S.O.S.
written in the scar she carved on his inner back's flail
as we both drenched head to toe in stale sents of sex!
Her flower splits to bloom around his, her lips confuse;
dissects the hour who founded
crying, bleeding, black and blue surrounding a new
dying seedling who was dammed alive to see this!
Placenta imperfect, cuts still burning,
laments have yet to set us up to discuss this yearning!
This lust, this hunger this slut this sloth..
With her lungs short of gust the sails sit propped.
We bathe in our bliss to
learn how to earn this remaining scar tissue;
issue is plainly spit,
adjacent the barbed basement we played in!
And the little lone porch, is a little more placid
with the baskets- babies- rape sheets and umbilical cords!
This home was cut from a different mold,
a different hole, sewn and reopened by a different surgeon-
that bled down the leg of indifferent virgins.
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