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murielle lemaire May 2014
I am driftwood on a sea of though.
I am the sweet smoke from your mouth
and the ashes that fall.
I am ice
that your too cold hands cannot melt.
I am the truths unspoken.
I am subtlety screaming to be noticed.
I am
raised flesh
I am
eyes wide open
i am the insatiable hunger.

the gasp for air
the bite mark
the taste of laughter
the scent of desire
                               left behind,
still lingering in the air, and burned in the brain.

— The End —