The Dolls of Dresden Row A lost highway of love threads its salty satin into unsuspecting thighs, running from top to bottom the path of our lies. Across impugned verses flies a wounded water, a sweet suckling sap tapped from tombs of forests; torn groves overgrowing wombs. Inside the throat of Judas burns a room kindling sweating faggots under cauldron tonsils tongued by flames scalding dragon brews. We toss and tousle shorn mane, coursing to iron blossom our bold profanity; blaming hunger and thirst for all this shame. Share:ShareClick to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to share on Google+ (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)Click to share on Skype (Opens in new window)Click to share on Telegram (Opens in new window)Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window) Related June 16, 2015 Categories: Poetry