Bohemian King Poem by Charlotte Anna Witts
Bohemian King
A crimson self-inflicted stain upon this blotting-paper skin,
increases its clutch upon the hem of my skirt, exaggerates the compulsion to toss this figure into the perfect womb of turquoise and allow its caresses to tear me limb from limb and tear from tear until there’s nothing left but surrender.
Monday, February 11, 2008
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4/19/2024 5:51:20 PM # 1.0.0.1119
