deepundergroundpoetry.com
Until the Gristle
With a thousand shadows of silence in longhand
of scripted laurels in your hair echoing
gathering dust of old memories in the attic
of my mind found in a box of your decaying
gnawed bones as I trace my fingers down your
thighs playing peekaboo with your velvet
vulva until the gristle becomes my sin
with a thousand shadows of silence in longhand
of scripted laurels in your hair echoing
gathering dust of old memories in the attic
of my mind found in a box of your decaying
gnawed bones as I trace my fingers down your
thighs playing peekaboo with your velvet
vulva until the gristle becomes my sin
with a thousand shadows of silence in longhand
Published 22nd Jan 2025
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22nd Jan 2025 11:29pm
22nd Jan 2025 11:32pm
