Your wrists are so blue and vibrant and rich
That they've made a passion within to itch
As I sit near you watching blue streaks jump.
I feel passing breathless, though mine lungs pump.
Think I how lovely it would be
To have your arms tightly round me,
Wrist closed crossed slightly behind my neck.
Thus embraced, your lips I would peck.
And I'd tremble, though not for kiss,
But from sheer joy and oozing bliss
At having your love trickle down
My vertebral spine from the frown
Upon each wrist that I you gave
Because my passion'd not behave.
They tempted me sore with their tunnels
Passing fair that, as if with funnels,
Must be drained. Note I did not slit
Lengthwise, thus you'd live a tad bit
Longer or perchance die not at all,
As winter blocked by eternal fall.
Lifelessly listless you've become
While hugging me to death, and some
Of you1 pools on my back. My pet
Your love2 stains much as runner's sweat:
Lumbarly collected at the tail
With thoracic ellipses, as well.
While your pallor groweth more pale,
Our chemistry doth I inhale.
Sorry, we are unable to log you in via Facebook at this time. Please try again later.
Now bringing you back...
Please enter your email address below to reset your password. We will send you an email with instructions on how to continue.
Does that email address look wrong? Try again with a different email.
This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?