"resuscitative" poems
The scent of your elegant body deadens my mind and leaves it imprecise
I want nor wine nor **** your resuscitative breath alone shall suffice
I cannot say what loves have come and gone, but in your arms I come alive
There is a sacred sign in your silent sight, which bring forth the scent of paradise
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC