spacejunk

queen Bee

My Cleopatra.
My self-proclaimed empress.

She was the kind of girl that pharaohs bow down to,
tumbling tides of flaxen locks left cascading and interlocked with the coruscating streaks of dawn hues,
her sticky, sickly sweet, sap coated lips dribbling with spherules of molten gold,
honey beads splashing past the gaps of her pearlescent, milk drenched gums;

Shit. I can't fall again.
I harbour no priority towards religion,
but GOD please do not let me f
a
l
l

Your hieroglyphic eyes and sinuous tongue are forged from that of a silver sunrise,
words of liquified chrome slithering into the fathomless crevices of my chest to plant their seeds of adoration;
watered by the bitter irony of my own T
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