bankrupt girls

And the gutted plum prattles on. Stumbling across the chasm between degeneracy and delight, deep violet & fleshy & ripe, without a body to deprave, a presence of mouths A hard seed inside. A finger to the curve purity protracted in skin-deep wounds, all bitter juice and stained handkerchiefs spring is to come, first to emerge from the ground so gently, judgement falls, splattered romantically…