Saturday, September 19, 2009

your protected rapture uncolored
you come down feathery stairs
in a gown of feathers
making my afternoon
lime, mildly ridiculous.

smoothing your running blood
under a blonde skin
unhappy as a bird always is

wishing you apart, scattered
in petals, where on the moss ground
you can't speak against yourself any longer.

stained skin, eyes in velvet
wallpapering a wallpaper
with unnecessary tears

there is always murder
there are gifts in the world
to make you happy briefly
you'll die in the shade
while I'll die in the dead sun

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