Thin Crimson Lines Drip Down Her Temple

wamtac

thick clouds surround me
the sky is a mellow grey
air seems still
and though my heart beats slow
my brain is racing
far ahead of my skull
which bends at the pressure
of expanding thought
skin shatters
as the ceiling above it
killing my spectators
and allowing me to marry
the love of my life
thin crimson lines
drip down her temple
mixing with the whiteness
of virgin climax
she tastes like you
only sweeter
the object of relationship
is not love
but freedom
in the partnership
of two souls
bound by one
not by metal circling a digit
but contentment in connection
in a lifelong desire
to enjoy one another

 

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