Sunday, August 18, 2013

Mes pleurs que ta voix parle.

Come to me, 
sweet fear. 
I taste the sugar 
of last night's 
wine from your lustful mouth.
Oh, how I savour that 
memory of you, 
dressed in nothing 
but my watchful eye, 
as I bathe in my own 
validated self and 
personal promise. 
What a pleasure and a suffering
is the flame of an encounter, 
and how I love the burn.

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