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PoemI remember your smile,
as you lay down there,
coloured gold by the light from the window;
a stray hair fell down on your lips,
reminding me of how we played
those games that lovers play.
I yearned to bend and nuzzle your throat,
but I daren't wake you,
for you were so beautiful as you slept
that I just had to stare for so long
that it became a bit embarrasing
and they had to close the lid.
The Iron that is Thy DesignThe feed that tops thy blackened tongue
is crushed beneath thy white-red teeth,
and turns to breath inside thy lung
that warms the blood that lies beneath,
it beats its way from limb to limb
through passing by the dancing lord
who governs true with vigour and vim,
and spins around at the arm of his ward;
the bones are clad in iron moulds,
and pushed by thy exhaling moans,
the air is warm, but coloured cold,
by the burning breath of thy white groans,
thy feet round-clad in wheels of black
then turn in steps that go across
and hit the never- changing tracks
so gleaming soft with polished gloss.
And burning bright, thy heart now boils
thy blood that flees to the hazy air,
it hardens the flesh which creaking toils,
to take thy body from thy lair,
outside to the valleys adorned green-blue
but blacked with soot, that breath of thine,
and which thy trail- prints cut clean through,
with the iron that is thy design.
O iron car
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More