Her talk of bruised skin, and how it caught fire on the far side of trespass, fascinated me to no end. She wanted to burn clean through, didn’t want to hear any more talk about cooler heads prevailing, or stubborn … Continue reading
There’s something about a girl baring flagrant cherish in the sunniest regions of hell that raises Eden to a four letter five alarm siege on skin and other vital parts prey to melting.
One turn of the hip, upsetting the apple cart– Eden after dark.
Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard, in order to reach the garden.
Ripe, the carnal skin of an apple’s flame-slipped outer layer; one bite, one tear with hungry nails, intimating the measures of ravish, indebted to touch.
Flowers pale into this storm but do not fade, to cede, in tune, as grievous winds sculpt a fierce bloom, begging a Garden’s fate.
Early morning. Turning to face you. First kiss, skin on skin, to claim holy fire coiled in mortal intimacy. I know that one day I will die to you, you to me, Time bruises softly. Sense of ephemera compels me … Continue reading
Ripe apple, shaded, beckons the encroaching light– at the core, Divine.
Eden as live bait, we fall hook line and sinker– Epitaph for love.
No one had suspected that Eden’s true location had been buried and hidden beneath centuries upon sepulchral centuries of death masks and psychic makeovers
