and now cannot move for fear of oblivion
While your kiss is like slow death
But pleasurable and memorable and
Your thighs are best left un-thought of
Such a prison of perfect precision when they are
Wrapped about me
Your love is
Like a a pitcher plant I have no want
Of escaping even if
This was plausible
And your eyes of ice
Grey with speckles of lonesome decay
Your eyes full of mischief and vice
They pin me down
Pierce me with scalpel-like zeal
So sharp
I feel no pain
Your love is like a landmine
Paralyzing
And now I cannot move for fear of
Oblivion
By: Daniel Smallegange
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