My face isn't carved in a mountain. I've never been struck by lightning.
I've never saved a crying baby from a burning house fire nor have I over come my misfortunes in life to acquire a name for myself. I consider myself a writer although all I've written is only pieces of torn limbs of my distraught existence. (a bunch of poems)
Contact Form
Friday, November 16, 2018
Pretend
Pretend I am your pillow
Hold me down with your cheek
Breathe on my nipple
Play music on my washboard
Taste My Flesh
Wanting you
All ways
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.