Split open voluptuous lips death as a hook in the pear, lonely at my fingertips. I say aloud sweeter than the robes of Versailles. What real death is that if you can’t taste it twice? Cut it harshly just as if father yelled on those rarer moments, his bones arching legs. Cut it with a knife bear the skin as your cross. I was your only bones and face; imaginative rattling in what I see you as. Pear. What it gives let it torture the sensual Eve. She did not deserve things like this. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Written for the 6/1/2021 dVerse prompt.