Allow me, to the tips of your fingers // Allow me, to the ends of your feet // Dissolve me in your gaze

I don't speak unless I'm spoken to // I don't smoke unless you're smoking too + I don't speak unless I'm spoken for // and I won't smoke unless you smoke some more

Oh // I think you're holding the heart of mine // squeeze it apart, that's fine

What is this trembling? // I’m breaking down more and more // If this is love // it’s alright, it’s alright

nov 19 2021 ∞
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  • Death poems / are mere delusion —/death is death. - Tokō (1710–1795)
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