As I smile a tiny star.
A cloud of confusion steals my instincts.
My suppressed laughter is a problem of locomotion.
The lions inside her pick my bones whenever I talk to her.
Her painted claws and her sharp little teeth paralyze my faculty of intelligence.
She is tired of people who bruise their knuckles on her jaws
And now she brings me out of myself
As I look at my insides, the maniacal symphonies of the squadrons of mosquitoes that home in on my rags of birthday suit dine into my mind.
I anesthetize my soul by planting myself before her every day when I see her.
Hauling my fish out of the water is an effort to no avail for I fail to pick up the fragments of her divinity.
My black angel, Yes, my black angel whose presence makes me have a globule of saliva
As she is angular-faced, the coal-black character within which my desire for love is pinned has made my mind explode deliciously.
© Danny the Writer