Sunday, March 21, 2010

St. Benedict (patron of Europe, against poison, against witchcraft, spelunkers, etc. etc.)

love her and choose the latter. her hands

flutter down your back like doves. forget

what that feels like. she tastes like the

greenest poison. the thickest brambles

tear the skin. if love was a raven,

this would be so much easier. lips are

ghosts. having a heart leads to fevers,

sweats in the night. there is a way to be

alone. it is an undiscovered continent,

a map that cannot be understood.

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