blow me out
and extinguish the moon
as calloused fingers would smother a wick
pull me into you in the frost of dawn
and I will hide beneath you where the moon cannot find me
blow me out like a candle,
heart clutching a wish
but wishes are for fools
the moon always rises
(this is my rip on Bukowski's "quiet, clean girls in gingham dresses..." a piece of work I loved so much I needed to possess it in some vague way) (this is not an advertisement for a good man in an ol
The sky is falling. And God is letting it. Because He can. Because He doesn't care... not anymore. He dreamed of pulling a virgin against Him in the night, using magic, of calling it a miracle. Bend o