I write brutal love poetry, I'm a folk singer, I'm a loser.
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I want that thick and smoldering kind of love, give me that one. I want a tongue so far down my throat it pulls the pictures off the walls of my esophagus and strips the paint from the halls they hung. Jade green. Spackle that shit in a shade of blue that doesn't exist and give it a texture, I need to feel it. My heart is a busted locket, it's been broken but never opened so I've repaired it in anticipation of your fingers on my neck, push them into my collar and take my jaw between your teeth, because it's time this old house got pulled apart.
