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dont go to barsher hips twirling in the candlelight, barely contained beneath tentative layers of sequined silk twinkle star bright, and while she writhes,
the very meaning of motion,
the soundless berating of everything you have ever doubted of love
(for there is love there, spoken in the language of full-to-bursting flesh)
moves over you in the waves of sweat cresting your collarbones,
tidal-waves of wanting only the impulses of your body betray -
in your eyes, there is nothing but echoes of sweet smoke and the charred, timber-brown residue of poppy flowers swaying,
like the serpents of her hips
in gentle spring breezes.
the curses of her skin are writing prophesies over the scars of the sky,
tomes and heresies to the greatness of man
with the scent of her womanhood
sweet as perfume
clogging the darkness through the parting of your lips -
there is no breath left in you,
only the deep incense off her warflags,
waving you down
with bullet-blasts of red lips
swollen in their wanting of you
The Day I Met God.I met God one evening.
The funny thing is, i wasn't wanting to find him.
God was smoking.
"Why are you smoking?"
"I'm God Kalea, i'm stressed."
We sat atop a big balcony and watched his creations move.
"They're so beautiful", God was breathing hard.
But I know they aren't. they aren't. they aren't.
How do you tell God that?
"Why do people rape, and murder and steal?"
God's mouth is the shape of a sinking ship
his face carries the wrinkles of one thousand dying souls.
oh, i don't know.
a weird photoshop doodle.
all artwork in my gallery is © me, bailey elizabeth. do not use or modify my images or writing in any way without my written permission. don't steal my art. please.
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