It's So Warm

Our veins applaud the blood letting which is not yet broken. The night meanders past the corruption which snakes back then is complete. At the point where passion flows. Her pretty face out of range blind vision crawls. Her clothing's in the bathroom stop. Why do I so feel cold? From the center your chapped lips where on the street I sold. The darkest art is where I park where darker rhythm, rhythms with blues and scotch. At the point where passion flows your juices seep my acid leaks, although it is not very old, each dropp you keep. The overflow is caught between your lips.