my savage you raised.
insane vivid colors.
sculptur a rupture of the spines.
you should not pluck it.
...
It s' sat and intended to play of music
and its voice speaking to him in lt's darkness.
It was ordering,
however lives appeasing, soporific, singing,
...
It described such a face,
smiling to him-as often it did it.
In its imagination, as with at school,
carried this uniform of the street Mary Magdelene'
...
I pleasure myself.
The ends, centres, hair,
lips precipitate by my spirit,
tieing its hands, smacking, seizing, pinching,
...
My love, my expensive,
I touch your cold flesh,
I embrace your blue lips, and request.
this evening you will return.
...
They look with hot contemplation
at the time when its hot pressure…
stops drawing hot milk from me
a small innocent face looking in my face. ……
...
Proud death is not art thou a seed,
although some called thee Puissant and dreadful,
for, saith he moved a thousand steps, yet I sleepe.
For, those, which hide lost think' the street,
...
They come across me when i must,
why I came by,
knowing I need it more for my needs
as their woman folk....
...
gone away my love
i know
i haven't much time
too you so i say
...
Thy heart will be only what it may be, does it see?
Semi dark thoughts of the gray marble womb
in whom does it rest.
Dark heart the clutter of pink that stone;
...