Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
to me
my dreams
his hands
never
touch
me
oh
how
he kisses me

over and over
he kisses me
his kiss
is
sweet

he give me
love to drink
always naked
with
me


his hands
don't treat me
like an
man

he holds me
in
his
arms
completely

how many times
must we write
how he
is
complete


in
me

cry







cry cry
oh
foul
nations
what best
thou cast
that my
lots
be
drown


what soul beyond
marrow from bone
what words
approache
me
that
i
may
be bound



cling from me
in
your
hours
of
poetry


let us place calm
in your palm
my hands
have
the
nooses
rope burns


we pulled myself
up
after
we clung
?














...
..
.
what potter
smashed his pots
they
are
clay
we
are dirt
from that clay
...

— The End —