I am an orphan of fire and
a seer eye; a rank coil
of panic rummaging
in a satchel of curses
and curiosity.
I break your flesh
and make music
on the harp of your bones.
To love me back requires
an avid mouth.
Longing is the air I eat.
4
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Where did Macbeth's witches come from?
Furiously visceral, like swallowing a handful of habanero peppers. *
Thank you, Matthew.
This is good.
Wow, dude, so beautiful. *fav ----asg
Stunning work.*
Thank you, Amanda!
"To love me back requires
an avid mouth."
***