My muse has curled up at my feet,
his breath feathering my cold soles until from my limbs pours his sweet influence. He and I often in morning's dim light gnaw on thick bones in search of the fat marrow, the hidden vein. Each day, the greater success is his.
his breath feathering my cold soles until from my limbs pours his sweet influence. He and I often in morning's dim light gnaw on thick bones in search of the fat marrow, the hidden vein. Each day, the greater success is his.
