poetry allows me to purge and process. its how I breathe.
Sex. Flesh. And Soft Peaches. Sticky honey, in the corner of a room, Stuffy and Humid, yet. A strong Hunger A Hunger on Tongue and on the Eyes, A Wild Salivating Hunger, Bite, Spit, Swallow, Cumin, Honey, Salt, Fuck. I’m Hungry, And You’re Feeding Me, In Even the Spaces That I had Forgotten […]