February 2012
23 posts
5 tags
Roadside
Twisted mist lined sheets
fog only for few, rarely new
sought suitors.
And oh, whistles and thistles
tickle dropped potential.
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Control
She hesitates like shockwaves
hitting my spine, spreading to
zealous hips.
She hesitates, and I know I should too.
Breath like poetry.
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“the dateless need to stick together tonight. we’re like survivors huddling for...”
– emma roberts (on valentine’s day), the art of getting by
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