Left With Her Heartbeat

 the wager so breathless so confused so ugly. our lips so sensual such body to damage his heart. so rabid so sick so enlove! our laughs as we die such tender essence. it would be life a sentence once sexual so cursed so damn affected; pushed into music such melody those treasury eyes. at death giggling at gods whispering or such a demon unbeknownst to its vessel; possessed those seconds as never understanding behaviors such deliberate torture!    

I never met such treachery so many vapors such terrific bestial passion. I never saw such a woman. I would chunk up its ghosts. our nakedness such absence into surrender. every number every death while Love would chuckle! so infested so afflicted where touching is trespass—those mountain eyes as Moses would sin while we adore Egyptian women. so much churning so much burning to enter such moist deliverance.

sweet vinyl-soil such fridges to love one last again, as dying was so much a privilege; the dearth in us so bound to exospheres while gripped, tugged, scratched, or such terrible sensuous habits. a knotted man while I skip sex as confused so addled by a pure adder; such nectar-venom such tenuous concrete; so dependent on behavior such hanging his guts where it’s terrible to touch; the debt of the vampire, the collar of the priest, or gates requiring verbose keys. as a person would lie there, gazing at aesthetic worship to find one so distraught, so upset, as needing one precious message.

I could sing the streets or treasure ghosts where I ask permission—to enter the luxuries to deliver gold while a flower seemed incredible; upon a guitar such trying or laughing while I need to feel cool. such eyes into green lights. such pain into a climax. as accustomed to adore strangers. our one night. our deep decay. where I did those excellencies. sheer red lights, while she walks away, a man left with her heartbeat.

it was a favor to meet, it was life to taste, it was dying to convulse. so flavored or esthetic or art so much fire so quick a small death! I reminisce while feeling sick as to imagine one so lost; such nerves so emphatic where a man might fret his heart. so consuming such consumption as aflame in Europe: the flying flute those cymbals screaming such angst or pain or a woman. so deadly as convinced, so determined as crazed, so powerful upon a man’s senses. it was too long as needing sensuality as devastated by nonchalance. too tender the masks too liquid the dynamite while so hectic it becomes too much flame. a man re-pictured or restructured to finally learn seduction. I fear body talk as to speak configuration where we alienate all participants.