Making
love.
We strove through summer stalks,
we peeled our hearts like lemons
and ravaged
with quick hooves.
The sun
fell into sour halves;
We slid downhill
toward the fresh ruin of our lives.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
"This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang but a whimper." --T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men."
I will cleave until the white ugly heart of your skull is barren and yet I shall love you to the uttermost days of my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment