Saturday, April 27, 2013

Notebook stuff -- undated

I taste blood, but I don't know which one of us is bleeding, or if it comes from inside or out. I don't even feel the pain of it, having rubbed so long the same spot until I would either bleed or explode, love rubs whole lives together with hope to spread fire, stirring coals up inside, heat making me breathe flame out of the intensity of pain, shaping a point where pain and bliss meet and make love.

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