My body's a ruin, a temple condemned
to spend its lonely life waiting for you to attend.
To wander so slowly down the slope of my neck
and linger a while in the arch of my breast,
where a fountain is standing that has always run dry
but it looks so inviting, you just have to try
so you raise your parched lips to the fount for a taste
before traveling on to the dip of my waist.
Past the brow of my hip, to the hinge of my thigh
where a river is flowing that pulls you into its tide,
and in its warm waters you find resolution
then go down to the temple to receive absolution.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 2:01 AM UTC
My body's a ruin, a temple condemned
to spend its lonely life waiting for you to attend.
To wander so slowly down the slope of my neck
and linger a while in the arch of my breast,
where a fountain is standing that has always run dry
but it looks so inviting, you just have to try
so you raise your parched lips to the fount for a taste
before traveling on to the dip of my waist.
Past the brow of my hip, to the hinge of my thigh
where a river is flowing that pulls you into its tide,
and in its warm waters you find resolution
then go down to the temple to receive absolution.
