My Baby Has Hard Poop

(for my brown rebel, on the date of our second anniversary)



winds whisper indelible love underwater RAS
time;
today is when I need your voice and your blood
. They are no longer


the butterflies in my stomach.
His body rotted manure worked
and has formed a budding love
branches tangling in me.

are no longer white swallows
which volverána my side.
not return. ----

never go away.

this exact
And my truth concise

inevitable.

. not far
a & amp, desktop search, No I am yours.


The torpor of everyday
Their cappuccinos sweetened with laughter
built with confidence Embraces

The expected cost me, your kissing
be celestial
but I love green green
but not everything

shines is gold --------> / / / as your eyes

pseudo emeralds

brown rebel.

The Rules Of Fustration my Kempf

as, imprecise
your ways, and mitigate
your colors. No
volverása set foot in what I call harmony, because
never have peace.

Ravens repentance,
-your memories, my torment-

not stop picking at your
stomach upset, where lie

butterflies before wearing my name.


And even that is not punishment enough, your soul deserves
impure atone for their sins,
with sweet pain of rebirth.
not promise forgiveness
not assure a return to life, offer the opportunity to admit

the misery caused in your
not

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as
said once the writer Matthew Brennan,
fairies and elves are microscopic nature
;

exist around us watching us


touch us we smell.
But we can not see them.
I want to capture the essence of these bugs
fluorescent
coldly and dully
transparent. I look at those
little unbelieving eyes,
I feel when I look,
I prove myself, I would
I want, want, desire and love. Expires
feelings and exhale love.
Are they immune to love? I doubt it.

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mp; aacute;.

And I
woman

output somewhere magical, blessed


those who need light bath

of stars

and hated by those who have their feet

trapped in that

steel. Do not try


changed;

will break the spell.

- let me move -