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There are too many sleepless nights under the belt of my waist.
Some were spent in hysteric tears, others in hot flashes of desire, others in the timid repel for a loss affection. I lay awake in the bed, sweat trailed along my brow, and between breasts, and I watch the beads roll down this desert.
There is little moisture that comes to these parts.
Sometimes I scream into the pillows and rage wars between heaven hell and earth. I, tentatively, purge things -- find the weight of words like liberation cunt and death to be mildly calmly, and bathe with the smell of incense and darkness around me.

You carry me like a presence within:
like silk and fire I ignite in the pace of blood. I am Queen.

Messengers:
WLN = gislanni@live.com
AIM = angustia lust