poetry critical

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sun promises

the will to let me touch
crave her kind of warrior
hidden between wrinkled sheets in the cold of night
muse long sonnets as her thighs pedal to the moon
brains will scatter petals
she will be back a haiku in place
pollinate the elysian fields
sow and bloom along summer
commit her divine

15 Jul 17

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nice. i feel that the moon's gravity is pulling these words out of the author's love.
 — cadmium

you sewer drinking turtle ass strut's the fuckship ass dick!
 — percocet

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