Sunday, August 10, 2008

they call me slug, do you want to make love?

i want to be wrapped up in butterfly wings, dipped in the liquid that relieves heart stings, built on the things that sway suddenly, tumbling, over grown, under looked, glass eyes, truth and lies, below the belt, nothing else. 

squinting at the new hope birthed in a basement. drum beats; wild love meets

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