non, je suis riche. till death do us part,
till the empty corners of our rooms,
set apart, slit our separation into intimacy
YOU ARE READING
youngth
Poesíapoetry for the pretentious, by yours most impulsive. notice, the author is a moody mean machine and you have been notified. also, this is cas poetry. not her serious work. xoxo, imkeaha {for now}
deadly mornings / loving night
non, je suis riche. till death do us part,
till the empty corners of our rooms,
set apart, slit our separation into intimacy
