poems of Frigidity: Intoxication
See comments! Also, see yesterday (8/20) post 'Plucking', a poem I'm very proud of. Intoxication Least there’s an attempt So let this one vent Pass under your giggling surveillance. Planted the seed beneath The flesh that writhes It stings in staleness. But naught is growing. Least there’s quality... Sign in to see full entry.