not a throat, but I have enjoyed them. So
I have made my home where the surface
Is sure and the wit of age will
Not prevent my laughter.
I am not a throat, but there are throats. And
there are throats on which I have crawled,
Cobbling like a sea across those groynes of flesh,
Agitated by pleasure.
Are they excited by me? Smelling
emotion by stillness at the cellular level, my
own frosts are the passion of my girl's
variegated moods. I am
bloodless, have bred lust, yet wait for
stillness, a return to the oyster. I am cursed
by lack of erosion, but my lovers corrode,
Bittering the bed. My thousand white
marbles roll the loss back to you. The nacred
heart stones under the shell of
your skin; softened I wriggle, outside and in.
This was written in July, which now seems like a lifetime ago. I'm not happy with it any more, but I'd like some feedback if possible! To improve?!
![Rolling Eyes :roll:](./images/smilies/icon_rolleyes.gif)