Wild Edges of Death (day 3125)

Let me feel the messy you
The one with old sweatpants
That show wild edges of your soul.

Let me smell the rancid death
Of the achings deep inside,
And the cosmic galaxy that lies
Expelled, each pore of your skin
So deeply sensed within my own
A redness on my mind.

Let me hear the groan
Of your hurt and of your gasp,
For the rose becomes
So delicate in death.

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