you burn between my breasts.

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re-trace all them little peculiar lies.                                                                                                    fit into yet another bed. choose a side. by the window. or. door.                                                      two arms. and a torso. all essential parts come included.                                                                the curvature of such a particular spine. you burn between my breasts.                                        and leave a mark on my mind.

re-trace all them little peculiar lies. i ache. you drift.                                                                          it’s what finger tips ‘nd ligaments vie for. an upper thigh. a few rib bones. three. no. four.            from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. with leather n rope. tighter and tighter.                          you’re a strong-hold of thought. a beautifully inaccessible theory.                                                     my hands arrest your throat.

re-trace all them little peculiar lies. ‘nd wonder why you ache. i drift.                                                by the window and bed. you want to come clean. you pray only to what you believe in.
Chocolate Jesus and Nick Cave.                                                                                                          i don’t pray no more. between your bed and the door. i know how good sin tastes.                         i’m the last dirty angel they’ve got.