If There's Anything I Look

Oh What A Poet I Will Flay Myself Into.

Love Set You Going Like A Fat Gold Watch. The Midwife Slapped Your Footsoles, And Your Bald Cry Took Its Place Among The Elements.

The Sheets Grow Heavy As A Lecher's Kiss.

Perhaps When We Find Ourselves Wanting Everything, It Is Because We Are Dangerously Close To Wanting Nothing.

Jealousy Can Open The Blood, It Can Make Black Roses.