Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Dear Lilith

Dear Lilith your washer nuts are gripping thundered bolts of  lighting  illuminating nothing again       your beasts are tired and smiles long game venereal bits that's how it's played. The omegas play to ham sandwiches and guiltless Salome' s bowl full of gut and old Greece the way in which she fell      the Alfa dazed drone strike absent happy for more days like this one, fat and lazy craving positional joy stick g spot cock hanging out like it fashionable
a mouth foams for torn shoulders and  bent postures of what used to be called rational beings sold now as the weak of the week. Dear Lilith   your players are sipping blood from sippy cups and calling it Mead selling blank buzz to the religious  cults so blind they thank you for it  Giving fence its' own holiday calling it whatever makes them feel forgiven whatever  feels  right because he meets you where you are.   Call it a sacrament when they fill in the blanks  with blanks the minds closed so what's the difference.   Dear Lilith. it only takes a moment for the mind to catch up with passion so you stretch both.   minds eye stays busy with eyes stabled  keeping dabs on tabs.  Quinces in fences and locks in block instead of curled        eyes closed if at all possible just to birth passion once more from a different canal.   Dear Lilith your beasts are hired poker faces giving good face a little bit sad dreamer boy a little bit daddies home so hide you ass hole don't hurt me don't hurt me don't hurt don't hurt me
Dear Lilith your nails are eternal arrows growing comically large for the Bowman who still fingering them thread them and sending them on    they laugh and laugh and love and volley them  deathilly close to their own mouths for they are    both     aimed and starving.  Dear Lilith your tongues      grow wild amongst the wild fires making, growing fires of their own and you are happy

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