the mile high club

dear diary,
for our dead flower jubilee
from woodland to island
these scribbles left on old receipts

deranged dreams on crowded airplanes
four in the morning, someone murmuring
i would like to bury my nails in his skin
engrave myself upon his bare existence
savage baby, why are you burning,
 savage baby, how gently we weep
five in the morning, someone whispering
strawberry delights like cream on your tongue
savage baby with silver skin
your one and only trophy
from love with thunder, my ecstasy

for our dead flower jubilee,
pacing through monstrous terminals
pounded through bone and flesh
caught in a constant state of lumina

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