How about that
exquisite
exhausted glow of unremarkable love
red-rosed sonnets,
demented
That sort of thing
Romance is such sweet manipulation
Affliction not to be trifled with
while I can’t stop thinking about death
Syrups, glowing,
clogging up
Hold still please
Give me your regional dialects
You all smell like sugar
Even when I don’t need you
No comments:
Post a Comment