Friday, February 18, 2005


Fantasies blinded by neon lights
Buried in feather boas
Drowning in mounds of costume jewelry
You have sinned
A bottle of perfume falls to the linoleam
It’s too sweet
Like rotting fruit
You sin again
A flailing arm
carelessly knocking a jar of powder off the armoire
It fills the air
Clogging your nostils
coating your throat
There’s a point when you just stop believing in God


Blogger Feesh said...

Mmmm... it sounds like a crossdresser/raver... fun fun. Awesome. x)

9:50 PM  

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Love know no gender.