it becomes a need
for something made mystery to our eyes. others aside us. monsters before us.
most just need without desire to strive. more dysfunction. brighter cries. a
soul might break her dungeon. telepathy is not accurate. it isn’t a one-word
correlation. it’s friction, association, nearby oceans. so metaphysic in
debris, gentle eloquence, like seeing a woman for [the] first exposure. values
on slenderness, a flat abdomen, on both voluptuous [and] petite buttocks—narrow
hips at times, wider machinery at intervals, maybe invisibility at moments. ontological
sexuality. physiological responses. maybe two can’t explain each other.
a swing was
swaying, sand was disheveled, muddy prints spoke to a playful child. grass was
plush green. benches were freshly painted. a hydrant, bright yellow, sat at its
midsection. this is a park, a spectacular area, kids are in its sandbox.
I wanted a child.
friends called me silly. many were afraid of women. as we speak in universals
about a creed interchangeable, we do it with inaccuracy. a woman will have
spaces in her. one for each temperament. it’s akin to how men love beauty. as
visual creatures, it sounds authoritative, but higher visual, more likely to
survive nuances. I can’t imagine how we look now. both men [and] women. so easy
to look back at our options.
Love is execution,
crunches, pushups. a strong woman with excellent arms. it was subtle, I picked
it up. amaranth toe polish. well sanded heels. an anklet for charm. does it
matter? so much it irritates? what worth in finding favor?
shrapnel
intelligence, pellets of information, [but] years aging feeling unattractive.
many will use [the] soul/body, discard evidentiality, [and] depart with little
understanding. so amazed how we dance, how we try harder, as for anyone
displaying our ideals. it’s a deficit inside, an inaccurate summation, a summit
playing piano.
