se7enchance

Moppet Mural


You drink the breath from my lungs under the guise of yearning kisses. The phosphorous in your mouth tastes like opium. You fish about with idle fingers in a moldy collection of frayed puzzle pieces. You nibble at my drowsy exhalations with a forked tongue. Your pale fingers idly plug jigsaw fragments into the hollow of your throat. When you aren't watching, I fix your mistakes. Ninety degrees at a time. I have the pristine privilege of the perfected portrait to guide us.

10:35 p.m. - 2015-10-26

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