it is in the sac of every young man’s rhyme
broken down hymns to rent the heart torn hymen
or the softer tissue of their inclination
the violent cradling of a head so lovingly cracked
and a greed for the emptiness of a hard delivery
but a hope that with growth we one day leave
the licentious lagoon of moral penury
until then don’t forget to breathe
No comments:
Post a Comment