Of Muses And Other Ghosts
There Is No Star Taller Than Her
The blonde nightmare,
the woman with gold painted eyes,
that strews red, indecent kisses
on my childishly anxious lips.
The cruel monster
that leaves me in the morning
which part of life is dream
and which is more.
On the other side of the world,
the ocean dresses her nude form
with it's light blue weaves.
There is no star taller than her in the sky,
they're all hanging, on her white cheeks and shoulders,
their blood spilled, on her lips.
No woman, ever was to men
no lips, faced so many kisses,
no other muse, was painted,
more than her.
Can you imagine me, wanting you
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