a cold bath runs dryer than leathered skin.
the rough corse texture layered over your bones never scared me.
2 years my senior.
thousand years my bane.
lover, lover, lover, come back here.
i'm hungry for you.
not for your drive, or cravings.
but for your love and the way you loved.
the devil is on our side, the angel i am cried.
in the purest of states we lay together in the bath.
still as a metal tap.
YOU ARE READING
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Poetry'baby come on over, come on over to my side well i may not live past twenty one, but, what a way to die' the pleasure seekers
