deepundergroundpoetry.com

Morrissey

In crush and a rush
We are Northern men
Of whispered secrets
In masculine streets
Of dust on the pavements
The Wildean gliiter of which we speak
They have no fucking ideal.

I bestow women to drag
Themselves naked, curdle their
Flesh against my skin
Jesus made me, he will
Always lie in the streams
Of my forsaken jukebox.

Every syllable he sings curses
My breath from depths of a shy childhood
To my naked self, abreast in every
Summer, your sun sets for me and you.
 
So rich in the veins of all human
Wine. So let me drink. Let me get pissed
In hollows of your beautiful voice.
Nothing..
In the gulps of your lungs
My breath dies into every breath
You have sailed for  me.
Please let me die on
Foreign shores with my Rose.

I  fucking love you Morrissey.
Trouble_Loves_Me
Written by Trouble_Loves_Me
Published
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