Letters to women with an affinity for words: heartbreak in a passing birdcage glance

And the gates of heaven were not gold but silver and divine. so silver i could sink my teeth in tasting the triumph on tongues of flesh so sweet.let this waltz not wake us from this dream.abdomens sweat down chance meetings.
 
so lovers lips locked in a lustful stair , bowed backs were the breaking point off punctured flesh,teeth marks on soft necks,and black mascara eyes were flourished feathers; ruffled in rhythm where you broke everything that was me on white bed sheet linens.
 
a Minx's scratch brought red fingernail marks and the blood drained from my skin.devoured as Saturn's appetite,we are not cross but carnivorous in each others daily dying arms.nothing remains from the lions den;so we reflect in early morning bathroom mirrors,naked,vulnerable, accepting verse as a vision, as a viable option for a higher power.poetry became our religion,another reason for waking at first mornings light across breasts,baring desires to disturb at every chance.
 
what is immoral? is it ache in our bones for breakfast with a visitor, adrift in endless fathoms; you are the deep end of the swimming pool i was drowning in. couching up chlorine water-sprung from the depths.i beg to be thrust back to my surroundings,wet wondering's of what could have been. so she flicked her hair and walked away.i get butterflies when entering emotional relationships with complete strangers.