![ExFm](https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-k8GJ1Ebfyig/TSdTI3bSJPI/AAAAAAAACU0/MOivgRjtG-I/s800/exfm.png")
pretty, bruised big mouth
that opens on Sunday for
line-cutting bastards,
cracked bottles of Chardonnay.
a dancer in dimestores,
said ‘pay through your pocket,’
he calls himself shallow and
you’re always soaking wet.
dick
drips
cascade,
cocksure
prince
play
cut to red ribbons,
unstitch your grin’s loopholes
to secrete true scarlet
on skies built by honest men.
broken legs running
to fuck in the forest
where his jagged breathing
sounds just like four horses.
dick
drips
cascade,
cocksure
prince
play
follow the postman,
he tied you in leather
and captured your mother
to quiet the weather.
and bury your mantras
that kneel down for magpies
by beautiful bastards
who kiss and despise while the
dick
drips
cascade,
cocksure
prince
play.
Reblogged from Molly Peck.
