a face of smoke with powdered lips
wafts through the lights,
a sight abliss
posted by jayivan at 7:13 pm
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the storm returns thirst:
for the hip-swayed and pill-popped,
for sex with strangers,
for the pleasure domes:
swollen cocks pressed tight in jeans,
gray matter synapse,
each seeking relief
from urban dunes breeched.
posted by jayivan at 4:33 pm
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