DM$ Climbing Midnight with Cupid πŸ’˜ ❀ πŸ’™ πŸ’œ

DM$ Climbing Midnight with Cupid πŸ’˜ ❀ πŸ’™ πŸ’œ

Climbing midnight again peeking out window for a spin from Cinderella. I’m quiet on her front porch and she’s in love with being loved not by the broke neighbor but by the one that treats her extra tenderly. At the end of the day, we climb into bed with our better selves quietly, undeniably alive.

Some nights are quietly pondered by little gunners with Cupid charms restful by seasons decayed. The neighbors might hear the terse rendition of a desperate fool.

I line up my dreams with the tender of midnight stranger strolls that even make addicts of lawyer princes. Terry with a tattoo C on head has a wallop for her tender dressed with dressy apparel. Remember that lady of night has been broken a million times by heartless knights.

Southland quiet madness when mother left him breathing alone in the lonely “no exit” world. These are velvet to his kinder ears. He sleeps on two beats and thinks of a time when old uncles had less than zero swings.

The quiet taste of midnight when lovers tremble free dancing in place. Only life takes taste buds for love away. There is nothing better than the hold of her without money exchanges just so she returns to the one that rocks her straight. How Cupid is the pimp of me? The pimp of her?

I sleep a little worn out with treasures that midnight brings: the solitude, the blues, desolate cares of trusted affairs.

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