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Close and perpetual. Intimate like pleasure, necessary like pain. Its pretty face hides its stench. My nose is vestigial anyway. The only sensation I need is taste and its touch. When it does that I feel it inside me, moving and hurting. Completely filling but stretching and growing me. Extending me like force to a door. It builds upon me and it is now requisite. I am drained without it but now with it I am all. I am the vacuum. so now I lay with only it allowed upon me, as I let its smooth flowy body run across me and around me and eventually into me. Where I am its liberty manifest now. It can show me its face, or its body. Or it can take or give. I allow, as its heights are beautiful and profound, where I find prowess. I will let it again. And as it feeds me, I remember the next time it will. And just before I do, I forget it’s last. With it I am content as satisfaction can bring, but insatiable with it as my desire.
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😃Sultry lips piercing through, eclipsed by the aphrodisiac essence of lust, spring molecules of forgiveness present themselves, the earth sparks a metal taste, I linger wanting more, I linger looking outside, I am an admirer, prompting to be allowed a vestige requisite, A plum, An ember of light, growing inside. Forcing its way through, pouncing like a cheetah in the wild. The hunger that sets in motion every thing we choose to ignore, All that was before yesterday and firmly staged, a waiting list, for the insidious, carnivorous aptitude of becoming, loud and clear as it may be, It is still just a voice. Slumping through the forest, encapsulated by darkness. Stern, Laughably so, insistently arousing, judgemental at my string of poignant vouch, Please me. Farrow undulating corpse of a shell fish, It sees me for what I am, Purse in hand as I wait for the vanquish.
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🕳once I dreampt I fell in the crack of two pavement slabs. The fall was weak and subtle, but long and extensive. I could only reach the bottom once I braced myself, and I touched ground with my toes. Followed by heels. And I felt no pressure on my knees. But when I looked around it was so expansively dark, so clean and gradual. The floor looked like a gradient of baby blue to deep black in shadow. And the floor had such soft texture, trillions of tiny grooves and crevices to dozens of small gapes and caverns. Feeling it i felt like I was shaking a hand. And the blood of the opposing secreted out of it and into me, to warm me, to extend me. And after putting my palm against its, I felt my souls seep lower to feel it too. I had no shoes, no protection, I was naked. Exposed. But it felt so right when I lay on my back, my arms unparalleled. I felt euphoria like the calmest of deaths. And I lay still until I noticed the shift, I was on my feet again, my back on the wall now. And emerging from the limitless black I saw a glow of orange. Or pink. Or peach. A phosphorescent button held up by two eyes. And then a face. The structure was blue as the palm of my stability, and smooth as the wall behind. It points its fingers above us, and then to me. Where its omnipotent cornia traveled down its jugular to the four tips at my forehead. It left a sclera in its loss. And when it got that close, it burned me, it burned my soul, and it boiled my chemistry. And it pierced my forehead until I was blind. A blindness filled with color, and pattern. A blindness with utter understanding. I knew it all now, that this is my conscience. That this is experience, that this is existence. And I knew every word across each apparition of each tongue. This feeling dichotomizes my previous rest, and my future rest, but paralleled and copied our eternal form and sight. But when I grasped it all, I was lifted back above my concrete, my vision restored. My memory exhaust. In my knees. I see my door before its invert. With my hand still shaking its hand. And I look down to my feet, my toes warm, and the crack on my porch looking so familiar. So welcoming. Like the arms of my favor.
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i miss hunger, to be hungry, to feed at the detriment of whatever was around me
it’s futility, yes, but also it’s peace within itself- and… it’s intention. i miss the passion, the necessity, the necessity to be condemned by your own satisfaction, to be cognizant, to be aware, to be sacred and secular simultaneously- to take joy in something so human but something so alien
my cup runneth over and i’m crying over spilt milk as if it wont cease to pour and pour and pour
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🕳once I dreampt I fell in the crack of two pavement slabs. The fall was weak and subtle, but long and extensive. I could only reach the bottom once I braced myself, and I touched ground with my toes. Followed by heels. And I felt no pressure on my knees. But when I looked around it was so expansively dark, so clean and gradual. The floor looked like a gradient of baby blue to deep black in shadow. And the floor had such soft texture, trillions of tiny grooves and crevices to dozens of small gapes and caverns. Feeling it i felt like I was shaking a hand. And the blood of the opposing secreted out of it and into me, to warm me, to extend me. And after putting my palm against its, I felt my souls seep lower to feel it too. I had no shoes, no protection, I was naked. Exposed. But it felt so right when I lay on my back, my arms unparalleled. I felt euphoria like the calmest of deaths. And I lay still until I noticed the shift, I was on my feet again, my back on the wall now. And emerging from the limitless black I saw a glow of orange. Or pink. Or peach. A phosphorescent button held up by two eyes. And then a face. The structure was blue as the palm of my stability, and smooth as the wall behind. It points its fingers above us, and then to me. Where its omnipotent cornia traveled down its jugular to the four tips at my forehead. It left a sclera in its loss. And when it got that close, it burned me, it burned my soul, and it boiled my chemistry. And it pierced my forehead until I was blind. A blindness filled with color, and pattern. A blindness with utter understanding. I knew it all now, that this is my conscience. That this is experience, that this is existence. And I knew every word across each apparition of each tongue. This feeling dichotomizes my previous rest, and my future rest, but paralleled and copied our eternal form and sight. But when I grasped it all, I was lifted back above my concrete, my vision restored. My memory exhaust. In my knees. I see my door before its invert. With my hand still shaking its hand. And I look down to my feet, my toes warm, and the crack on my porch looking so familiar. So welcoming. Like the arms of my favor.
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🌱my Stance rely on Grass. perfect posture molt by the Ground. the Sun squeeze Me until I condensate and evaporate upon Myself. the Sky hooks my compulsion to release My hazy stare on It. I bend Myself to find My feet. and between My hooves I see the only Black atop the Green and surround by Sky. I understand I need to know This. I rise and Shamble through memories of the Grass. the Color changes as I explore but the wind blinks Its change sometimes to often. and when It does that I forget the first image, if I saw It again Id never learn. but One Thing stay real, the Black. but now, Its Brown below, and shaped closer to recognition. and after the repetitive process of gullible reconnaissance the Weather changes Its final time, It is clear. and when I look up, It is there. A clean Fawn-Crow. the Utter Reflection, of what is Mother. of What is calamity that is of Me. It Stands like I do, just as It rose and Stumbled along to Me, as I Stand and watch Its voyage closer to memory. and now I know what it all was for. but still, I want to Walk like that again. so I lay, and dream in the Light of the Sky, as Clouds perform.
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🏵You know once I read about a living man. I read that that man decided he was a woman. But not long after she said she was a man again. And after experiencing all and everything this world had to offer, he decided to deatomize. He wanted to be nothing. But what he didn’t realize is that nothing implies something, so instead of being nothing he decided he’d be everything. so in him he grew a star, then he grew two stars, then he grew three, then five, then eight, then thirteen, then twenty one. And this continued until one of the stars got bored, there was nothing, so it decided it wanted to be nothing, and it died. But what it didn’t realize is that it was too much to be nothing. So in its corpse it grew a pretty little rock, then two, then three, then five, then eight, then thirteen, then twenty one. And this continued until those Little Rock’s adopted themselves to the other stars nearby. And circled and played around them until two of the pretty rocks had an accident. One of them hit another, and the one that got hit grew, and the other shrunk. And that big rock became angry and the small one mockingly rotated it taking all its sight staring it in the eyes. And the big rock while enraged crackled and popped, and grew layers upon itself for so long. And once it was completely shelled off from everything else, something clicked. On it it now carried a cell. Now there was something that can experience. Now there was a reason for anything to happen, and everything but only within the steps of this eye. So now it all grew and became elegant. All showing off to this pretty rock. And few angry asteroids later, and a few orgasms, and a little blood. There was a living boy, and that boy grew into a living man. This living man would have a story written about him, and he would read it, and he would say it, and he would scream it, and he would realize it. And so life now birthed. Birth is metaphase. Death now understood as mitosis reversed. everything became real. we as I now see our reflections as my daughters and your parent. Breath through our lungs now.