Poem -

Touch the space

the next womb

portraits edges in shining golden waves
bleeding dripping white cloudy foaming orbs
sound listening as tears
tore the paper we wrote upon
burning burnt handshakes
tripping small pebbles
creating bathing on carried beaches
black rustic graves
preaching under peach trees
mythical animals
give gifted,
deserts long-reaching
planet held balancing lovers

Reserved, blue sharp blurry touch
sneaking blasted gunshots
possesions Priestley rides
drowning plastic beads
flayed floated corpse
current in shock
fruited taste

do you believe


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Rene Diedrich

drop the last line. unless you wanna sound like cher