Tuesday, August 3, 2010

One Every 24 #41


Sick sinking deeper into the mud
Hollow on the inside, black
Water taint to the lust for this
Bottled between stagnant thighs

Your wound, our sore, my inflammation
Says the mass of dead tissues
Separating us from the living. Cast

Off, we’re shedding our reptile minds
Rising up from below the surface
Our smoother skin beyond the lace
Left behind, a fragile split revealing

Our newer selves as we writhe
Toward the shine.

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