Exiled from our image in a deep London insomnia.
A desert of numb bachelors stumble in mantua for a chance to leave the world's airport.
But a day later my chest is break dancing, cat kick, and firework crotch racing like a lunatic sport.
A seasoned athlete, orator, lover at work.
It’s all a great allegory that we’re engulfed and succumb
To images of visual detachment during emotional contact.
Like lovers dying together in open death one into the other.
A spillage in slow motion specific to intimacy
Good morning sweet girl.
Trust me to leave you looking so warm and sweet this morning.
It's not a weakness to rest and find a mind’s death as what we deserve from it all
Dreaming miss cotton candy,
Ephemeral and tasty,
Now we stare curled half naked, and sleepy.
Soft whispers as fingers rake what is raw and quivering
Down, which we share.
You, a curt puff, a distant breeze.
A lost sound, smell, and memory.
I used to be able to,
For an angel so dark and beautiful.
Inside an abyss you disappear completely.
A haunting religious intimacy and social catastrophe.
Out there in someplace in nowhere we're amorous, veiled, devoted to this certainty
found at once in different relations, locations,
At every instant rendering in pictures a lover has none.
Pictures in dreams that are not to be found in
A mirror to myself and the crowd that I share.
All the while living to forget being
In an artifice of living here.
To be more mortally selfish than I know.
Then suddenly I’m able to forget myself somehow.
Trust me to see you unfurl.
Its meaning and touch finds an outlet whether I know it or not
So integral to my being that I couldn't do anything about it if I wanted to stop.
We carry everything so far so rest here, before you start again.
Helping desire's force that I turn into when I can’t touch the outside as it touches me.
I could bring you tea, read a story to you, take you out of your head?
A drive, a walk, even across the room?
But how did I let myself go
Without touch and done it without knowing?
Tonight this vulnerable twilight will paralyze,
The untouched into a painful reverberation
A chest will cave from taking it in.
Hopelessly sensual more now than ever.
Will you remember the flowers in your hand? Will you recall?
Will you remember the touches, smiles, and laughs of it all?