original sin
in a cave of trees, identically to Kanzan,
(thievishly),
robed in a velvety black fur, sits the love
𓇼
with its voice transplanted, it's meowing,
while its kitty eyes crave
to taste the original sin of my verses' lips
𓇼
nonchalantly, as if i didn't feel it, i pass on,
but in reality, passionately,
love rips out entire oxygen from my lungs
