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Wet Graffiti.

Lips brush
across this canvas,
a tongue spirals, flickers,

painting graffiti
on a masterpiece,
invisible save

for the glistening trails,
carved into skin
laminated, smooth and slick
with sweet sweat.

Electric between our bodies
enlivening. Liberated, intoxicated,
blessed with your permission,
I proceed to drown in this as if it will
be gone tomorrow,

for history provides weight
for that hypothesis.

Saturate in the now.

For a moment, I push aside
all my questions,
answer the unasked, alive
in this madness, embodying
our answer.

Let the whole world convulse and burn
around us as we fuck amidst the torn earth
and blanket of ashes.

If I could be swallowed, buried, digested
here, it would assuage my fear,
though the future seems to beckon me.

Can you hold me, guide
me through the wasteland
in straight and narrow fashion?

I push aide the question, drown
in my only true goddess, take the wheel
offered and drive

us home, where we embrace
one another in the arms
of the numb.


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