It is a strange sort of pain "to die of yearning for something you'll never experience"

Thursday, April 15, 2004

Precious chaos

I was lying there in the red room
Your lips were there, tight in bloom
I saw them
Wrinkles of your virility
Ambivalence in your innocent rebel facility

Rebel was when he moved
Like the wrinkles on a hidden wood
In a beaver hood
That stood
And understood

"You saw it all..."
No you did not
You just choked
Even when we spoke and spoiled

I'm not here
And I will never be
Don't knock it up
Cuz I won't let that little girl inside down
I won't

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