Slow-burning wick from the vault of dreams,
a ghost, of finger thimbles warming my skin,
with fifty shades of sin, cloning the candle,
dripping tallow between caress,
and cauterization. Tracing the archipelago
of my spine, rendering my aura sweet
caribou, with a animal scent of musk clinging,
to the solstice of midnight and residue,
with a second breath as I get a shiver,
of thimbles warming my skin.
Rated for Teens(13+)
Solstice of Midnight
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