He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half alive; and he said mine would be drunk: I said I should fall asleep in his; and he said he could not breathe in mine..." - Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights, Ch. 24
Ah this frivolous posture and screen fix we call life Can send me diving into a well of wish wash old garments. My wild over examinations on human concept of interaction, can send me head first to roast and crack my skull like the head of a succulent mythical beast. Who could ever wish to endure such gargantous passion that implodes and eventually does explode in your hands, mouth, or teats.
Our story was lost somewhere and we know that.. or much to the effect, I swell to know... what now? the tangent of dreams, the soft cool touch of skin is there more to the taste of me, for men? Wine stained lips swing and sway some...Memory Through the daze gardens we dwell in muck we touch the rain dew leaves, and squint at the seaming glitter of the birthing sun and we strip our heavy clothes off....
oh what season, what perfect reason and view for a fuck
The pressures that soften the cage soft wells of skin they sink whilst you sleep Shape of your structure the skeletal ardor corrects the idea of perfection prefer the status of an idol... to always love you
As prayers do plead 120 days I ask a beautiful arch, an invitation for the arms of the lost illicit, forbidden
I'm being depleted in circus senses of feeling Learn to hold on tight to the skin on your back before your hands meet mine Complications arise to act upon our silent circumstance What can I say? I shone true teeth This youth tattoo of our modern limbs is temporary paint that can last per say, three decades Oh this musical ear, and this fear. I crave the iris twins that live in water and the milky sand of your lily white hands Future stages of sin in this well-staged script I cross my legs and pray, I cross my legs and pray Mein Kraft, Upstage my bitter monologue, swell the conservative audience to an encore Claim this trophy wise, of lips and thighs Swallow the seconds slowly like a wind, a foreign steal I sing warm whispers to keyholes,saints, and lover's ears.
