“you seem like a risk taker.”

i found refuge in my friend’s lips.
the shade. being one of those more puzzling beautiful things in the world.
there’s no word for that colour.
and i think it should remain that way.

today and today only. i needed a straw poll opinion.
i wanted a shoulder.
i wanted to leave an inglorious blush between cashmere hunger and the bare him.

“You seem like a risk taker.” a dirty light. a puzzling beauty. a few minutes past rush hour.
a moan and a Monday. chock full of penny saints and them traitors.
we sat at the back of the bus. tits are legal in New York City.

topless @ First Avenue and Bellevue.
i tell traitors that’s how i met you. i tell saints that’s how i love you.

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