70
I never touched myself like this before.
My nipples were not little silver bells
To harden under restless hungry hands
And whine with echoes in my every bone.
I never stood beneath the blooming tree
Alone, with eyes wide open in the dark --
To drink with every hole the driest wine
And see how flowers stir inside of me.
I never touched myself not with my hands,
I never carried anybody's eyes,
I never stood inside of me at nights,
But now I'm filled with silver from your shade.
|