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Finish It

Crippled by the burden of fruitless longing
Weighted in the troughs of atmospheric tyranny
So homely in my wallowing conformity
Submissive in my sorrow and degraded with a weakened sense of duty

Tell me what does passion look like
Is it my lips against the hollow in your neck
The tryst that is the arch in my back
The lust that grips my hair and flesh
The salt cascading in rivulets on checks touched with raspberries, a bottles edge
Pressed to lips that are no friend
To all the principles of a man
Only whispers in shadows of a love that never lived

Enraptured in wings their black plumage an unthinkable comfort to these
Tired eyes weak with the sights they’ve seen
A body mangled from the dark airs its breathed
In this there is no civility
Only death
Tell me what does passion look like

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