The leaves fall, like
cum on your back.
I'll wipe it off.
I'll wipe it off,
like a phone call while I'm
happily stuffing
the days, stomaching
the dishes.
What is it I'm
moving past, exactly?
Tomorrow is a hot bath.
I should ease in, but,
I won't feel it until
days later, anyway.
What is it I'm
moving past, exactly?















Comments
HIDE ME.
--
!
xo!
--
one half of ~ZombiesAteUs
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