I want to plant foothills by the stairs. Broad basins on the chipping white paint. Flaking from the ceiling in droplets. Watering the drought of steps of vacated conversation, inner tongues flicking pleasured thoughts. Touches sprawled on black sand paper are compressed by our synced footsteps. Intertwined by laced fingers and hungry thrusts. Backpedaling to the peak, it causes cautious urches. The snowy ridges still chipping off, lips sealed together puzzled by whom will break first. Or if the sprouting seed inside is blooming in the other……….I still can’t figure out when you walk down the steps.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
I want to plant foothills by the stairs. Broad basins on the chipping white paint. Flaking from the ceiling in droplets. Watering the drought of steps of vacated conversation, inner tongues flicking pleasured thoughts. Touches sprawled on black sand paper are compressed by our synced footsteps. Intertwined by laced fingers and hungry thrusts. Backpedaling to the peak, it causes cautious urches. The snowy ridges still chipping off, lips sealed together puzzled by whom will break first. Or if the sprouting seed inside is blooming in the other……….I still can’t figure out when you walk down the steps.
