poetry critical

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imaging a poetry night with you

my solo performance
to my muse
exclusive audience no less
is hardcore making out
of all fucks
i've imagined
your hottest spiel
more than bed weather
i mess 'til my brains scatter
i'm not getting mixed signals
like a yawn contaminates
opening my mouth big enough to swallow you whole
obscure as it seems
temporarily acceptable as i discern your breath
pace with mine
i feel the rough of your chin
anticipating hardness when i go closer
too potent to unkempt vulnerability
we become butterflies
our wings clip tonight

9 Sep 17

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um. holy fuck.
 — dvdsxr