Is this then a touch? . . . quivering me
to a new identity.
Flames and ether making a rush for my veins . . .
My flesh and blood playing out lightning,
to strike what is hardly different from myself
- Walt Whitman
her touch scorched me this morning and it left a skidmark on my soul.
to a new identity.
Flames and ether making a rush for my veins . . .
My flesh and blood playing out lightning,
to strike what is hardly different from myself
- Walt Whitman
her touch scorched me this morning and it left a skidmark on my soul.
mydogfarted:
Well, as long as it didn't leave a skidmark in your underpants.