(A piece inspired by Jenny's book title in TLW)
Through words that slither and leave our entity.
Seeping through the trenches of her eyes,
Flows the fluid that proclaims her the beholder of Messiah, the progeny of the divine.
In the sanctity of her warm bosoms,
Rests the origin of lust; the beginning of heaven and earth.
Show me a more dear enticement of procreation that has suffered this much,
yet striven in times such as thus,
And I'll show you my scars as they are, without hiding them beneath tars.
17/2/13
Her tongue,
it's a serpent's instrument.
It's the chord that binds us to our misery, it's a serpent's instrument.
Through words that slither and leave our entity.
Seeping through the trenches of her eyes,
Flows the fluid that proclaims her the beholder of Messiah, the progeny of the divine.
In the sanctity of her warm bosoms,
Rests the origin of lust; the beginning of heaven and earth.
Show me a more dear enticement of procreation that has suffered this much,
yet striven in times such as thus,
And I'll show you my scars as they are, without hiding them beneath tars.
17/2/13
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