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
