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Literature Text
you, ambiguous, startling blue—
your hatchet hands
manipulating the best in me,
causing those little tremors
that no other man could hope to taste,
dragging your tongue over my psyche
and marking it, as none have yet done
to my body— as, perhaps, none ever will—
I feel that, if I let myself,
I could love you,
feel that swift, transcendental danger
burying itself deep in my womb...
I curl in on myself
like a dying bud.
your hatchet hands
manipulating the best in me,
causing those little tremors
that no other man could hope to taste,
dragging your tongue over my psyche
and marking it, as none have yet done
to my body— as, perhaps, none ever will—
I feel that, if I let myself,
I could love you,
feel that swift, transcendental danger
burying itself deep in my womb...
I curl in on myself
like a dying bud.
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written within the last two minutes and I'm not really sure if it's any good but it's been weeks since I uploaded a poem
so
so
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Comments24
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I quite like "your hatchet hands" that's a solid image.