I know deceit its sweetness, how it makes beauty. a woman knows, she cries, but feeling fulfilled – a kindness there a freezer later if but to open fences. the blood bleeding such freedom to die, while monogamy is richer as it glows. two joined at cores such reverberation so patient as if a man is a child. to reedit emotion to rethread passion while something addictive means total disregard. but a sculptress so precious such a laugh to womanizers; as missing intimacy, even ownership, we hate self so much we ruin existence. so pernicious so inflamed such a ghost; a womb electric from gut to universe as built to relive dying.
love has pinions or hedges or so enthralled by raw, animalistic sunshine: such gravel serene asphalt as lying inside mud so cleansed.
by
archaic consensus, while it sounds melodious, just about entirely in man’s
favor. realness imploding fever as a hunch wildness as a jungle. sore jigsaws
such devastating jousts at a jiggle in a woman. the fields are screaming, dead
blacks are furious the extent of transference is amazing. so unrepaired, as an
entire life, such note, bolts, shrews, and safety clamps; by wood or iron, or
metal, or wires. but was she taught, would she die for us, was pain too
glorious?
a soul knows its restraints, it
pushes to face its restraints, it feels pain boxed like videos or bagged like
books. I might love passed lies, if
but some luxury, where a woman is a full package. she knows she might drift,
but she knows. we expect love, while hating self, but expecting feral,
catastrophic adoration.
as found in bushes looking for a
voice such concrete as a witness to zealots.
so bestial as in beasts such
burning as afraid to collapse. our true thrills our true miles such a kilometer
to reaching something surely revamped; those years rescheduled so free while it’s
too much to deal on gaveled terms. too primitive for this age too idealistic
for this age or to idyllic for this age.
I regress, retreat, or refrain!
I couldn’t believe the countenance
or its upholstery while taken by its configuration. (it doesn’t happen, it
makes me sad, but destroying as desired is a hit for missing.)
sunrise has fallen those pavements
are warm I feel barefoot. as walking coals or sparking cigarettes while such a
filthy habit. as for reasons, it truly changes, as soon as luxuries come to
speak. some minotaur in us some furious, flaming instability in us – as trying
forever while bogged by needs where beauty is made into a massacre.
