deepundergroundpoetry.com
Half Empty
In the orchard of granite stones
as the mist grows foggy moors
a resting place of souls bygone
beneath the full moon's corset
and fingernails a shade of pale
with blood-red lips dripping
the dew of twilight
stirring my lusting passion
with my glass half empty
of life in death's journey
as the mist grows foggy moors
a resting place of souls bygone
beneath the full moon's corset
and fingernails a shade of pale
with blood-red lips dripping
the dew of twilight
stirring my lusting passion
with my glass half empty
of life in death's journey
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