upon
a celesta to have dreams insofar as to wail into non-responses. to unscrew an
ektara while bolting our fantasy insomuch as never to accept you. motors rev
softly or Love is a cello, sore enforced sophistication. but a lance but so
appealing while she might unlock sanity. the caress of structure the majesty in
false containment where Sweets would suggest an unreality. such an obscure
reverence. such mistaken usage. in a world despising/yearning for anything
thought seamy. our trips to Vegas, while cleanness is significant, in such a
way as we need our predilections. upon a fife or just playtime where we need to
believe in you. so tricky. such by a thin balance. for we also need so much. a
woman cares for him but loves you while it becomes such swagger. (if a man
needs a mother figure, a woman needs a father figure.) such deeper psychology
or so psychiatric where one says, “I knew that.” but there is imbalance, for “I
love the origin figure, but I’m addicted to the human figure.” (on another note.) we hear malarkey, not so much as nonsense,
but something misguiding the ship. (I’ll leave that alone. I’m working it out.) into a saxophone as Lisa wails harmony
such sweet olfactory manifests. but treasured anguish so close it becomes
passivity or most likely a semi-normal human.
