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corsetPoems
She follows, she follows... A Poem by Corset It's Christmas again  we try to try and we confess to a kind of madness we gather the smell of your skin dangling like lost stars while millions mass entitled to our sick days Tree top swing eyelids sweating in white pulse 'cause you do not understand intimacy until you have shaved your wife in the wilderness of cowboys and the dust settled dawn hoof and mane remain the same conversation I try to remember the sound of your laughter, I can only recall mine, it is meant to be only a few moments ago Christmas Eve like a thirsty rabbit went into his hole drank him deep asleep into the floor our working class demons can't look at each other without a pick axe and all I can think is "I hope you got tailgate" and she follows, and she follows the one, that my brothers and sisters call "the missing" dream.
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Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC
She follows, she follows...
She follows, she follows... A Poem by Corset It's Christmas again  we try to try and we confess to a kind of madness we gather the smell of your skin dangling like lost stars while millions mass entitled to our sick days Tree top swing eyelids sweating in white pulse 'cause you do not understand intimacy until you have shaved your wife in the wilderness of cowboys and the dust settled dawn hoof and mane remain the same conversation I try to remember the sound of your laughter, I can only recall mine, it is meant to be only a few moments ago Christmas Eve like a thirsty rabbit went into his hole drank him deep asleep into the floor our working class demons can't look at each other without a pick axe and all I can think is "I hope you got tailgate" and she follows, and she follows the one, that my brothers and sisters call "the missing" dream.
corset
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corset
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC
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