Pisces, she’s a sponge for clove cigarette smoke and the healing it gives in crystallized lungs, and the devotion I wield like a vengeful god.
Smoke and a sweet taste she licks off her lips, that I would kiss off her lips, sweetening the hope of catching that dragon.
One room that was a wish granted and the last hurrah for innocence, an afternoon content in perfection and that ruined every other woman.
At peace in her was I, Aries the war god, putting down my eyes to see her and her black semitic curls that had a half life as a fetish.
Mermaids are calling me now down the street, and Pisces stick together, and I claim nothing but a burned out memory, and a sweet taste on my lips.
Mermaids are captive and go home at night, witched out and disenchanted. Pisces knows the score and stays in Athens.
Dreams come true ruin you forever.