As he sings in his gentle androgynous voice, my head fills with images of women smoking cigarettes, lingering, touching their long smooth hair and gripping their tall microphones. Dagger nails and black lipstick.
He says he wants to crawl inside, he says he wants to fuck her slow.
Would you sit with me a little while, stranger clad in shadow. Would you listen as I tell you a sad secret that nobody else can know. About a little girl who could feel the thirsty flowers growing in the center of her soul. They grew and grew so wild until the cage of her small chest was full of petals soft as snow. The pretty press of passion, suffocates her slow.
Can you hear the static in my throat when I whisper to you in soft tones. It is the noise the cosmos makes when it is exhausted of its own…
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