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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 03-June 06:35:55 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 8184
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => 10%
[time] => 2002-12-07 11:00:00
[hometext] => (what, no category for heroin poems?)
[bodytext] => A tap, tap, tap on my forearm.
Spider legs dance on blue velvet, toy soldiers march in a row. The smell of jasmine, the taste of you. Sex in a pitch dark room. Dreams born of the pleasure. Part of me stands to the side, shakes its head at my addiction, and wants to whisper in your ear “its not really him you are seeing’. Pins and needles give way as pleasure mingles with blood. Calm now. Cool pavement softens, becomes my bed, and I lay on my back watching clouds form the face of god. The voices are silenced. All is soft and warm and childlike innocent. Pleasure born of the dreams. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 286 [topic] => 49 [informant] => darkeyedman [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 7 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => mystical )
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