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A spectacle of their solarium
From a distance of three feet, I stand and see. It looks just like a montage of confetti, glitter, paper colored blue, red and green.
Yes, can I be not any more certain about it. Can I not.
I repeat. Are you listening? It looks like a montage of sand on the shoreline, slipped from the palm of one foremost - only now drifted by the the high tide yonder. Ah! how the waves hightail! Swish of a wind and there they are gone!
Appending the montage is an auburn sun on a red sky. I swelter and my skin shows it overtly with drops of sweat behind my neck. Oh God! I feel warm.
'Tis red hot and I sweat a little more. I have more to tell. Tell me, art thou willing to hear?
There now it seeks fugitive behind the cumuli that stretch the ambience. Huh! How erotic 'they' say. How cowardly scream I.
Screamed I with my blood incited to clot in my lungs. Must thee hath heard it. Did you?
So art the lineaments of the collage you two compose. Broken bedstead in between your hands and legs; her negligee torn so well that seems to me she is swathed by drapery; and the voile of the net, has that constituted the divine abode of many in their first nights, demands sutures in a number of ninety nine. Hah! This shipwreck but oh good Lord! what a design!
May I tell and never confide in you two. How can I anyway? May thee let me know if thou ascertain anything to speak.
Must you be told that is it not a night for one, but four and eyes twice of that quantity. Damn if merely thou cared to behold. When did we all become so blind?
Standing at the edge of reality and disbelief,
A broken soul shivers deep, has her snood been ripped apart that sits not a trace of it's tapestry on her bun now. Alas! this hideous sight! So grotesque it looks with her body making the frame that thought I if had she been harried by thee. Do you see that?Who am I asking? You slide inside your heinous hideout whilst the craft of your hand hexes me right here, do you not hide in the light of the room?
I ponder and swirl my head. 'Tis a sky now - the space your solarium occupies.
Am I there again daddy.
A press in the name of a blink and I see you both again. Alack! has this spectacle grown uglier within just a jiffy of my departure, or did I tarry too long to lose my mother?
Oh thou bestial butcher, oh thee malicious monster! Hear me right. Command I now. Hear me right! Art thou my father, yes you whose seed despise I in my mother's blood.
Oh thee tamer of the tempest! May I remind thee - is she my mother if not thy better half!
Envisioned I of demanding thy obedience for my entreaty a moment back in time.
Must thee not dare touch her where she denies thy skin;
Must thee not venture to chisel her heart into two when you've already broken it for the millionth time;
Must thee abstain when has she been rendered wonded by thy sjambok! Must thee, must thee, must thee!
Oh, but had me fate preceded my slant once more - was she a goddess raped!
'Tis in the memory of the still that spectate I the mess again and again and again! And 'tis with thy words "I will never tell!" groan I a clamor of the jingle bells in Christmas. And 'tis with her words "Must I stand an inch from the doorstep when crystals crack to shine altogether, when the sound of fiddle replaces one's tinnitus, and when a hand holds another" that cry I - Demand I no encore!
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Yes, can I be not any more certain about it. Can I not.
I repeat. Are you listening? It looks like a montage of sand on the shoreline, slipped from the palm of one foremost - only now drifted by the the high tide yonder. Ah! how the waves hightail! Swish of a wind and there they are gone!
Appending the montage is an auburn sun on a red sky. I swelter and my skin shows it overtly with drops of sweat behind my neck. Oh God! I feel warm.
'Tis red hot and I sweat a little more. I have more to tell. Tell me, art thou willing to hear?
There now it seeks fugitive behind the cumuli that stretch the ambience. Huh! How erotic 'they' say. How cowardly scream I.
Screamed I with my blood incited to clot in my lungs. Must thee hath heard it. Did you?
So art the lineaments of the collage you two compose. Broken bedstead in between your hands and legs; her negligee torn so well that seems to me she is swathed by drapery; and the voile of the net, has that constituted the divine abode of many in their first nights, demands sutures in a number of ninety nine. Hah! This shipwreck but oh good Lord! what a design!
May I tell and never confide in you two. How can I anyway? May thee let me know if thou ascertain anything to speak.
Must you be told that is it not a night for one, but four and eyes twice of that quantity. Damn if merely thou cared to behold. When did we all become so blind?
Standing at the edge of reality and disbelief,
A broken soul shivers deep, has her snood been ripped apart that sits not a trace of it's tapestry on her bun now. Alas! this hideous sight! So grotesque it looks with her body making the frame that thought I if had she been harried by thee. Do you see that?Who am I asking? You slide inside your heinous hideout whilst the craft of your hand hexes me right here, do you not hide in the light of the room?
I ponder and swirl my head. 'Tis a sky now - the space your solarium occupies.
Am I there again daddy.
A press in the name of a blink and I see you both again. Alack! has this spectacle grown uglier within just a jiffy of my departure, or did I tarry too long to lose my mother?
Oh thou bestial butcher, oh thee malicious monster! Hear me right. Command I now. Hear me right! Art thou my father, yes you whose seed despise I in my mother's blood.
Oh thee tamer of the tempest! May I remind thee - is she my mother if not thy better half!
Envisioned I of demanding thy obedience for my entreaty a moment back in time.
Must thee not dare touch her where she denies thy skin;
Must thee not venture to chisel her heart into two when you've already broken it for the millionth time;
Must thee abstain when has she been rendered wonded by thy sjambok! Must thee, must thee, must thee!
Oh, but had me fate preceded my slant once more - was she a goddess raped!
'Tis in the memory of the still that spectate I the mess again and again and again! And 'tis with thy words "I will never tell!" groan I a clamor of the jingle bells in Christmas. And 'tis with her words "Must I stand an inch from the doorstep when crystals crack to shine altogether, when the sound of fiddle replaces one's tinnitus, and when a hand holds another" that cry I - Demand I no encore!
© All Rights Reserved
