quinta-feira, 4 de setembro de 2014

When the pus becames saliva...

Was the contour,
of the body,
on the dress, wasn't.

The skin mark
- hidden,
a harnessed form was.

My cock precipates,
in you lips,
waits.

When at last,
- the pus becomes saliva,
soul's balsam borns.

My tongue without hands [attached,
lewd your niples
- electrosphere.

A grass stream
- evaporates hate,
honest mistake.

Wichgrass walking,
drains your rain,
- feelling the electric air.

Just lay down on your valley,
will worth weight in gold,
- your mouth, unpleasantness ends.

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