this is the recording,
this is the rant,
this is as “real life” as a piece of typing paper.

This is how it is going to be from here on out.
This is the pulse of the heartbeat,
this this this fragile collection of strikes and spares,
letters arranged in haphazard order.

Casually flung about like a dog’s bone flung across the park, like a kite caught in the wind over the Pacific coast down near Santa Cruz.
It’s a beacon: home. This is a ph test,
not a joke, this is the new paragraph of the mind.

This as to that to become is what was is to will be is to we are is to we might be,
might be smiling,
might be fucking,
might be holding hands gently in the breeze.

Who might become stars on a small limited scale, nuclear, molecular atomic furnaces, consumers, spenders and creators of energy, of thought, speakers of simple truths and clever fables.

The interaction:
sublime, a touch a pressure felt more than slightly, communicates with more then force of will with more than the contextual cursory glance out of the corner of your eye.
And it was the apple of my eye, the pupil, the dilated sphere where I caught your drift, your unspoken completeness,
lack of words, open to spark me something.

never consummated, Pheonixing anew before burn out.

And every time it stuns,
the capacity to feel to flood senses with movements of love, sadness movements of hearts fluttering like butterflies,
broken on the wind,
frozen inbeteween beats inbeteween breaths inbeteween the now of the MTV washing machine twirl to the waiting with you.

What thirst I had. What thirst I have.

Will you help me to quench it by allowing me to bury myself in you. Arms, scent, neck, eyes, hair and breasts.

And you what kind of creature are you?
A creature of fire, from the outside of the senses like me?
Have you heard the whisper of the pale moonlight in the recesses crevaced in the back of your mind?
Have you heard the siren song of Loreli, or the muse, the call of the eagle on the fly?
I am so curious, so ready to know to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge.
Will you come eat with me and not look up?

Sleeping in me raw bed, alone with you.
So when the sun goes down over the river and rises again in our eyes, you remember this day, you don’t forget it.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.