we grind sexual organs into comatose beliefs.

 

 

we grind sexual organs into comatose beliefs
and love died in 1982Munch

no one shares common knowledge
i fell for you

better to know nothing is comin’ to save you
while i wait

only strangers’ with familiar cunts – pick at my bones
i do enjoy a story

the mother of all inventions – never begs for the predictable lie
a zipper
and your nimble hand shouldn’t be here

i’d whisper such evil thoughts for you.