She laid, scorched by the flames of desire - bald, smooth. Dripping with stains of sweat, and sex
Paris, in the darkness, winter 1949 Collar tight against the night, I intend to make it mine I pass the low lit cafes, and breathe gauloises smoke And exhaling to the moon I begin to see the joke
Underneath the skin there is a human. Cut me in two, I have ink in my veins that hold the words I wish I had penned but I was too anxious to write.
i used to salute the solitary magpie. legend suggests that if the bird of black, white, and blue is found alone, it has lost its mate.
There's wire in the blood, and that is why the copper taste Barbs that sting are multiplying, we need to take our haste The words that pierce our ink cannot ever go to waste So kiss the page before me, we know that I am far from chaste
Paint and purge attack the page spill, instill
Drowning. Waves crush - I watch Unable to reach.