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We Don't Believe In Heaven, But You're My HeavenThe letters on my dresser
I can listen to your voice all day
I love my way with words
And your way with my words
What does that mean, baby doll?
Do you have the poprocks?
Because I have my tongue
With the door wide open
We'll escape into each other
With eyes wide open
And your eyelashes against your cheeks
You swallow me whole
The lights are on
But I wish they weren't
Your voice is all I need
When you're serious
It sounds like water
Under the ice
And fire snapping away
Your hands explore my body
While your mouth touches mine
And I become nothing
And everything all at once
You're so beautiful
And you're all mine
I'm So SorryI could make you cry
I could break you down
And make you fall
I am too far gone
I am out of my mind
And I can't even focus on your face
I don't want to see you hurt
I don't hear your voice anymore
And I love you so much
I am sorry
I am sorry
And I am sorry
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More