I Have No Titles For My Work

breath stank of trust
honesty was the taste between her legs
her breasts and submission were one in the same
conquest was given under the guise of being stolen
all for the one to rule you and prove you
praise unworthy causes in the hope you'll exceed them
death on the knife to please the long life of the other
the waves obey the moon only because they have to
my lunar love is residual at best...

poem by Sebastien St. Fellmore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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