I want each step to land my foot tangled heather ash and soot. And lead to where the wicked go... where the darling schoolgirls know when to turn with redden hue gasping their intact virtue. Yet I long my footfall down- mossy sinfully buoyant ground. Run to meet him by the stone kiss him on it's granite bones. And he'll swing me wide with wonder pirate, he'll be, ravage. plunder. I go where all the good girls shant. all my christian vows recant. Yes I will meet him by the river
and onward I keep through the creeping myrtle, creep- and the sinners sandbox and painted ladies swings (where I rest my chastity case) that's covered in leather and ******* with lace. DelightΒ Β as I watch good girls gasp- as I swing wide hips, wide. Thier ****** ******* clasps. And that night will give birth to a wretched new way I am wanton and crafty and unwelcome at tables-where ladies demure and insist on "no more!" and need polite conversations to endless relations. I'll roar down that path like a thundering herd, like an air stream that carries the weariest bird. I'm curved, I'm pillowed. I'm chest out. I'm willowed... I'll have holes in my souls all four of them dotted. Or six of them spotted? Like a cat's lives they'll feed so that reaper, recedes. It's this path, though, you see them? The Glories majestic. Twined up the tree trunk and my heart is arrested. I'm put in the mind of those sinewy women and sin comes in scent where that glory blooms nightly and clasp hold of these moments of recklessness tightly.
Sahn 1/12/2015
this one is still forming but thanks for sharing my work. check out my blog if you like my work.