blue ridge on your back

my skin is dry but i'm always wet. our love is like the border between greece and albania, there is a shortage of blood supply. i hear peacocks in the distance and maybe some dark horses. the smell of tar in my hear masked by manufactured aromas sit patiently in my sleep as i have my first allergy attack of the night. i taste stale and haven't smoked a soldier of death in thirty-plus hours. i just want to taste you, feel you, smell you, hear you. it's hard to say no when things are good.