the tempest

where is my Queen Leah now


i am forsaken

it is possible that the stars and moon and shapes of the world are behind the pine trees and the old oak in vines and the dogwoods are sleeping in the dark too

somebody let off a stream of fireworks sizzling and popping that stopped at the ground fast with reverb


the air in atlanta in august smells like smoke and truck exhaust

it whips at the back of your throat when you inhale it

i am forsaken

after the knowing and lovely loving, there is but a draught of familiarity

of cold

my skin and my mind does touch off rapid fire memories and it’s war again

a high wire of white and silver ring high like lightning and thunder

it roars

my body scan depicts a swollen mind and my cave is empty and cock hard

pablo 3




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