The tickling of the walls
The kisses from dead pasts
The wickedness that proceeds all
I want to know what real love feels like
Within all of these pages
And all of the houses on the street.
Do speak to me rose...what is it that you contend?
The beauty of revelry
Falls down the drain with a pen
As deep pages crawl up in the clouds
And sustain rain,
And love goes boom
In a quiet room
The explosion is of a deficit
Created by the raging of time
Written in the deep pages...
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