Trenching through knee deep personality
praying for quicksand, I know
tastes like plastic wafer skin
are meant for my palette.
Falling victim to strawberries
blowing kisses at no one in particular,
St.Confession left me wanting more
at the bottom of the hotel pool
where we learned to leave
the most beautiful things.
Bodies blush, all over.
We aren't dead yet;
give us time to blacken our thoughts.
Oh, just confess Oedipus.
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