It’s been without meaning, or so it seems.
I have the sensation of lacerations, invisible jagged stone grinding on the palms of my hands, invisible separations. Phantom limbs and all is still attached. I remedy those fears and pains in ale and fernet, absinthe and cannabis.
You wake me with thoughts and visions I battle with considerations of celibacy.
Am I a prisoner and pariah unable to pull myself away from kissing Love’s dirty feet?
Sensibility in Letters of Renaissance
Revised: 05/24/2017 2:58 a.m.
- May 23, 2017, 5 a.m.
- |
- Public
Last updated August 08, 2017
This entry only accepts private comments.
You must be logged in to comment. Please
sign in or
join Prosebox to leave a comment.
Loading comments...