Friday, February 13

Inside, Old friend?

Old friend, the burning flare escalating my back.
We have been aquainted through time.
I made it my keep, an other spot on my leather hide.
Old friend, Hunter the huntee.
Pegasus on my feet clapping the night away.
Grains of sand make no change, ripples in time.
Mortality present, the burning flare.
Eyes watching, obfuscated by blood. Tasting my nectar, the leathery curse.
Old friends still the Temptress I recalled.
Grains of sand shifting, blood flowing.
Hunter the huntee.
No relief, after Pegasus fades.
I earn my spots, claps loose their eco.
Old friend, are you here to stay?

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