Nov 7, 2014


9.6.1992.ut AP 329

My name is the darks -
frosty hands to us-
mean almost nothing.
Our hearts are in need of-
words that precede touches-
to make us feel like a little kitten =
black lumps under fire of howitzers.

My name is the dark -
and she is there on fire,
and her fingers are burning,
her whole body glows while she’s undressing =

-and for every word applies:

"throw away and cry"

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