Saturday, August 14, 2021

Her Touch Is The Strongest Scent

 

let it be realism through cuffs to see a powerhouse. no cures in us, aloof in us, so deep it must be ignored. never a place as calling it comfort with needs bleeding into my ankles. cuts in flesh, million-dollar problems, so fucked up she loves me. so addicted so misplaced such aphasia—a touch in spirit, makes souls high, with meth on its mind. never another unto pain, never a mentor unknowingly, got so far in—I tried to ghost—into a planet an afflatus grieving, a nightmare in its trauma.          I saw her languishing. I saw her possessed. I saw her sexy.          I saw her doped out. I know professionalism. I know nights in broad day with a moon at my feet.          sure at her guts, sour at dysphoria, coming to a space in illusion.          she might sit, knees together, grabbing her thighs. she might look over her eyebrows into my spirit. she might bounce like a hit of soul so close I feel her energy. she might slant her neck looking left playing with her hair.          I give a damn. nothing spoken—nothing unveiled.          to hear it is like a giggle, in a woman, so enchanting, nothing happened.          she might be so angry she looks beautiful where danger is too alive to miss it.          I’ll leave men to thoughts, in a universe, with rain trickling into my bed quarters.          I know what I know. I heard what I saw. I see what remains a mystery.

 

activate a soul, talk love, despair over it hast to end. running through gardens picturing a xyst like laughing—it feels terrific. so much a touch. a soul stays strong. like magic in a cup.          so conversational. so much a method. with a soul claiming his future.         no boundaries for lovers. all hail to lovers. to have what no man can attain. a damn delusion. walking slowly. in a ghetto area.         to stop at a poolhall. to see her damn near possessed. to smell wafting perfume. so dangerous so sick I hit a room—surefire passion a giggle in her gait a touch in her breath.          they think it fantasy. they’ve never touched it. I give people space to decide on life.         

 

so much a frame so damn brilliant most are intimidated. I laugh. like a humble laugh. I disappear with aura in its air.     

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...