…this
allure model, this bold allergy, this
restricted body: this course screaming, this bleeding reverie, this sobering
aerobatic: our loins exploring, this seed emerging, this mother losing
peg-wars: our streaming excitement, this piercing by souls, those erotic
earrings: this atypical bondage, this interior essence, our skin as immortal
opium. I feel Black Swan, quasi-interrogated by Love, this furious feud: our
black enterprise, this white lavender, our exotic cries: as Dior madness, this
irrational kiss, as but a second to irrational eye-glares: this mortal fool,
this slender image, those provocative built(s): to love as dying, to sing
architecture, as afloat pinning this swanic valley: this picture freckling
brains, this immortalized seduction, and this tale for souls during escorted
imaginings: that reveled blade, this saw at sea-glands, this border-line
catastrophe: our souls beaded, our lights as toe-prints, this green turtle
speaking Chinese: if but to live, as mahogany beaut(s), if but to cleave as
resisting deaths: those Maybelline eyes, this L’Oreal face, this maze as
distorting customary lines: those fatal extracts, this smelted village, that
one beautiful personae: as Super-Stay gels, or immortalized conditioners, this
subtle scent disrupting held pledges: our midnight Africa, this gracile
Belizean, our European genetics: this split with reality, this middle
existence, this war upon fantasies: as naked masterpieces, this shuttering
thrill, if but to exchange fluids: our magnet arcs, this feral charm, our
nakedness beyond boundaries: to love as livid, or die as rescued, our Olay
skin-tones. I could retreat, but what
for essence, this passion bleeding its innocence: this bottle of nitrogen, this
external sherm-leaf, this reveled soul: to cut with silence, to love as
crooked, where Simone would forsake existence: if but to breathe, this kef
called life, this glow as orgasmic insistence: our mothers jealous, our fathers
praising, our souls feeling inadequate: those porcelain teeth, that furrow
exploding, that argumentative lecture—where souls smile, as informed with
travesties, to cut with silence: our three-step solutions, this predisposition,
this fiction concerning white flesh: our usual experience, our common
elevators, our cookies with crème: as souls running, this woman with cancer,
this elegant sea-crest: our octopus arms, this barracuda grin, this magnet as
infested with deaths: to live allure model,
this complicated existence, this bottle of Dom Pėrignon: this immortal breath,
as infused with effusions, at thrust with sheer murderism—our Garnier mane,
this Hispanic vixen, this Latin inheritance—as men dying, if but for elegance,
if but to extract this inner animalism: this Aniston tear, this Jolie
nightmare, this Beyoncè pride: our boats sailing, this raft adjacent, this
canyon inflamed with wings: for what by worth, this driven Smith, this Brimhall
nun, [this inner Trethewey]: as psychs thresh awareness, or therapists become
reflections, or overseers push through our eyes: this inward hydration, this
velvet sky-panic, our dreams convoluted: where women dwell, those exciting
creatures, our German mermaids: as embedded tears, or synthetic aloofness, or
random emails: this virus to souls, this demented vixen, this friend at times
catering wars: to love as lost, to retreat as entering, to fill as framing
emptiness: this paid internship, this stipend majesty, this background
music. It’s quite evasive; It’s quite to
points; It’s miracle dynamite: this thunder discomfort, this woman to dreams,
this connection as communion: this strong communication, this liturgy worship,
this model bleeding for normality: that constant attraction, as purely
external, this Biorè catastrophe: as nightmares on Elm Street, or tragedies at
night-sessions, or memories sheering convictions at three a.m.: our water with
sugar, our ice with syrup, our Marc Jacobs: as daisy intercoms, or lazy
evaluations, this Princess diamond: as reframed with hostilities, or cultured
by mis-identifications, this backpack
resisting internal forces: this Asian apple, this pineapple cone, this feeling
as if one has lost existence: but hells to failures, as eyes to apes, while
genetically beyond this magnitude by riches!
