the sickly hours draw near I’ve been out on the prowl feasting with panthers and laying with the low life bleeds out from my promiscuous
regions my seed, the gift of our
benefactor was spilled on vulgar ground a menagerie of brightly polished fossils perched four and twenty deep on a blackened
bow each was perfectly honed to provide the keen edges a boy could
shred his soul on
there’s a laboratory in my mind where pornographic experimentations are
crudely coupled with shameful memories so I
make meat in wee small hours to feed the fire that burns in my loins ever the same incessant pounding of a
thousand heartbeats a tide of lovers float into memory people like us know what we’re doing people like us have rapacious hearts
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