The Grass is Black/The Air is Pink

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feel me/read me/follow me

Enchanted though Resisting

we turned off the lights, so there was
only darkness and our anxious skin
we lit the vanilla candle, “does he
not like the smell of wine on my breath?”

I dabbed French brandy behind my
ears, I did’nt wear panties
I was nervous the first time
but I did’nt vomit until the second
time, when we tried to make love;
make love, have sex, fuck
anything but faire l’amour

the feeling that he’s capable of giving me
the feeling that is so overwhelming it
provokes fear, thinking of the vulgar
state that my body is in, is poetry
in its rawest, purest form
better than what anyone can write onto
a piece of paper with a pen
the feeling is a lie because it owns me,
so he owns me but my heart
is with another…

written: June 14, 2011

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Filed under: desire,desire,desire..., regarding myself, that crazy,little thing called love, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

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