we
need closure or fury or mechanics; such elegant features so baptized such a
gorgeous creature. our ugly habits so coarse if mentioned while living fantasy.
bound at tongue disposed to die while needing one devastated tryst. I long for
simplicity but craving chaos if but it came with loyalty… somewhat perfect
somewhat drenched while hands, mouths or souls are plural. to feel childish for
asking of duplicity where love is arriving on time. but I still churn I burn
for eloquence soon discounted for behavior. a man crawling or begging while a
woman feels powerful. I disappear. I give ropes. I laugh filled with the pain
of mantis'. those linarias on such
sunshine where adoring is something internal. if but a leveled/honest feature, to have
died early such loathing where negativity formed goodness; our blank checks our
diamond homes while most of us are too simple; to have royalty as described by
self where one feels like sewers. such a need for divulgence if but certain
therapy where one may attend but feel reluctant to speak: maybe pure guilt or
embarrassment, where one must commit to exposing a few compromising behaviors.
we give people sure credits. we
desire their headaches. or we excuse ‘things’ we don’t see. such predicament
souls, such pleasurable spirits, as frantic, palatial shrines—those avenues
those alleys such pure passion—at eyes filled with lava so addictive a man much
touch or trouble by skies—as curious fevers so gutted while I act so ugly. at feelings lingering at memories skiing
while so conflicted over something perceived as minor; but intimate séance or
mental renaissance where a woman is too much to master. indeed, such language
or that which is mastered gets discarded, but women master men by instinct.
