damion snow

jack and his french gurl

whistle winds wash
over the meadow
the grass tall
and whipping

there are borage flowers
that sprout wild
in patches of blue
like little islands
in an ocean of green

her eyes are agile
and hazel

they remind me of dead leaves

naked and mounted
she pushes herself
into me, holding her breasts
the nipples a heathered pink
and her skin soft and

i eject
my seed
the milky
mass festering
in her

and the leaking blood
down her thighs
like a creek

the red stains as
we lay adjacent
on the earth

it becomes like
a tattoo, to remember
the pain and the shame

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