Did you ever decide if you’d paint perfection on that marred canvas?

It seems whatever reaction once chained, transformed. And suddenly we were strangers again; There no longer was any taste lingering. Perhaps it’s my memory; bad with particulars, with holding emotional thoughts. I could put you into my mouth & be shocked by the flavor. Are you clear? I’m red. Colors are such story tellers – You’ve got a painting on your face.

To put something so pure upon the tongue, to be so hot with one’s blood, awfully wild for just a night.
Tore the armor off and discovered flight. Going on down and you might, find a thirst for such a life.
Here you are in the bed; All that is wanted is your head.