Friday, 16 March 2012


Way good on the real side of things. Alone, I dance with your spirit in my kitchen. Your face and my face collide, to soften things we purse our lips and aim. No no no, you’ve misquoted, I said that I think I do not entirely on purpose love and desire to caress with my eyefingers your every cell. In a world full of evil humanlings, there is one God, he took a break and gifted me his insights. Warm and fragrant like bed sheets that are always occupied by your friends.  Fine lines cross her face like hair, actually it is her hair, so picturesque, or wait it is a picture, of reality, of which there is no such thing. Woman: lithe, her petite shapeliness and undiluted body, pure and sacred. Essenceless, she is, senseless is my love--based on pure sensesation. Idle fantasies: I get drunk on liquor and drink in her form from safety--clandestine peeks between bobbing heads (my eye fidgets).  You are art, I don’t need to represent you.

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