I dream of my
red lipstick against your
skin, smearmarks and
lines tracing bites.

I wish it would
stain you more than it
does, a semi-permanent
tattoo of possession,
a place that speaks

‘I was here’

in the only language
that matters.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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