The Telephone's the Tongue


The telephone's the tongue

With which we caress each other's skin.

Ah! My lips are open

To your smooth, dark voice!

Pleasure inundates domestic pain,

The anguish of endings,

A thousand bleeding dreams.

What love is not destructive?

So ours, too, must rip lives apart.

Let the tide of anticipation,

Those blood-swollen currents of delight,

Lift us over the bar.

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