Id

There’s no easy way to say this;

if love had preauthorized payments,
the price might not be so high.

But I keep on smoking
whatever it takes to make you

mine.

Body buzz of bruises, welts and cuts.

There are butterflies in my gut, their wings flapped like razors, ulcers in the cocoon.

I’m head over heels for new moons, a lewd eclipse;

but my skin is sunkissed by your lips,
and my words are loose.

Heartfelt promises are dirty tricks, and I fell
for
every
one.

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