borrowed ivory

Teach me a new day’s breaking, crisp and quieter than ever before. A new sunday morning awaiting me somewhere underneath the coils of these broken-ankled, hijacked, widowed, burglar’s arms. Sharing me in, olding me down, plumbing the recesses of my intellect. My ammunition is molding while the mealy pith of your crowed eyes cowers into the corner of her all forgiving pocket.

I wanna bust you up. I wanna curl up with your destiny so real and simple. We could break the bindings of our tomes again and dismiss these holy horror stories of doldrums and impotence and toothaches, here, in this subversive sanctuary, where we once began to build bones out of broken blood. Where life began to trickle into the shimmering incisors we carved from borrowed ivory. To chew and tear and bite and yank and gnaw and whittle treasure from this festering mortuary.

I’d follow you there if you’d only forgive my sincerity.

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