Finger Painting


Cartier hand bag

Image via Wikipedia

I want that lipstick on face, cold with a trace…Manhattan love
Something you can picture, but not you away from my hands excelsior…bLACK Egyptian stars….and all that Angel dust sniffed…shipped from Mars
Higher, squeezing your blood vessels till they tell your eyes: [red, water, and fire]
Just your thighs crying, and my fingers walking, with blood being pumped to your feet…fucking…..that…me…whatever, what day we can be, or, that could cause….
I need it

¤ξ¤

I need you in my ear, telling me shit your mother wouldn’t want to hear, but maybe….nah
Shaking chandeliers, and breaking Cartier frames because…your legs were too numb to realize…or get up enough, to lift that watemelon textured skin from your Vanity mirror fucking
I need it.

But who bleeds blue, without being robbed for oxygen…lovers do. Far spaces, further places, and phone calls that end in “you”…followed by love, and I…wishing we could stay up forever, and call the police because we’re too high……but tell me..
Can you feel that?
Tell me again, I never heard your feedback….but felt that…..that……back….and awww shit, we’re silk swimming…because you never wanted to come up for air

  1. tHERe
  2. ….so you said “drown with me baby”

 

  • and I developed no fear.

 

Eat your leaves, and raisins pretty flower girl.

 

¤ξ¤
-Richí

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About Oil Underneath

I drink glasses of cold water.
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