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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?
©2008-2009 ~lasagnabomb
:iconlasagnabomb:

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little colors

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November 13, 2008
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