2091.

Pinked flesh, hungry and
flush under the push pull of
a needle strewn back.

2090.

Upside down, the day
plays its reversed emotions
for the dyslexic.

2089.

Word voyeur, lost to
soft sighs and shuddering breaths
intoxication.

2088.

If only clouds could
be beds, coming down to pick
up dreamers each night.

2087.

When they told you that
people were fragile, you saw
a chance to break them.

2086.

Possession is an
idea we keep confusing
for such enslavement.

2085.

You douse me in your
passion but then forget to
mind the low embers.