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Jan 2017
I go where all my going -
goes. And seldom
circle back.

II

I feel like Black, tastes like the Moon -
Tastes like the heel of my bread
Tastes like my hands...
Thrown up in the
Air.

I have no love, save the prerequisite doom
that your lips prove
a less dangerous
ploy.

And from this height
I might regard you
As a Goddess
to dispel.

But nothing goads  -
a comet, from it's entropy
like a private
Hell.

or a public distortion
Of the Truth...

we tell.
Third Eye Candy
Written by
Third Eye Candy  M/USA
(M/USA)   
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