what would it be, so
serious, unable to tame? but mechanics so strung as tiptoeing skies too wild
for sunrise. pure night creatures so many problems too unsure to enlist.
needing carte blanche infused as a scream where so normal upon an
outburst. Friday morning a face of realism a cup of strong whispers such
detriment too close. as confined to hide, for it seems difficult, as wandering
down that path.
it would die in me or
arise in you while tender an excuse; by trained vultures such accursed bodies
while anybody is better than absence.
to imagine your agenda to
fit many into a schedule where intimacy becomes water-based. such running
excellence or to open up as to receive sediments—those pale blue skies so mixed
as adoring such communion.
he knocked. she answered.
it’s beyond discussion.
one is unorthodox or
pointing at indiscretion while hated for saying anything honest.
we desire oceans or ships
or science or attraction. we despise cameras our actions, where routine is
chastised. such a hypocrite. for we adore women. our bodies speaking in
tongues. to look upon her, as not to womanize, but such an affect. our wars our
scars while at hedonism trying to reteach human proclivity.
both a scar a scream so
irreligious—Supposedly!
