0fu (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} 0fu) wrote,@ 2004-04-15 15:40:00 |
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meh
¶
a summer sky is but a picture here. an artifact to torment the little bit still left susseptible to rememberances of eden. an attempt to temper against a twinge that if preventable just might misspell the end of it.
i watched the repetative cast assunder
a second guess
a stutter step
and the rest are left with thy rememberance
when at last allowed to catch ones breath
i'll carve an icon in thy vasage
the quick and the dead
don't walk in the jungle with blood on thy hands and expect not to amass attention.
¶
your attentions have mass
if you surpass me send postcards of the golden streets
perhaps to meet in a flagstaff dive circa 1923.
chance occurance notwithstanding, but whose to see what circumstantial evidence might bring to me when electricity ceases to pass & one might drown in their own accruance, the affluence of inefficiency.
down to the gutter with thee, lick my feet and beg to be sullied.
i'll bath thee in rosewater
then you'll post up on street corner-
bring sugar to daddy. sweety.
¶
perhaps you would the smell of another upon me-
to prove that i've been wanted
repeatedly
i thought the gesture was beautiful, to relent to none but you.
i could taunt you from affar, but such would smack of effort,
unrequited.
so, ya done with me now, exit visas ensue, and such?
just be blunt, please
i like it rough
convince me there is nothing left
then i might be finally rid of it.
¶
dream of cyclones that give thee attention
the intent
to go with it
seems ominous, doesn't it
but what else is left?
was that a disscount in thy utterance
when i smell that you remember
every bit of it?
(was that a trick?)
aquiesse, relent
remember me where you and i alone exist
dream of me as perfect
is that to much to ask?
or is that why you cannot bear my countenance?
¶
23. separation by a drowning death, do you remember it yet? thats why the sense of loss was so imbittered. but admit to me our recursion and i'll leave thee to thy own device. i obsessed a bit, i thought of it as compliment, yet the best inticements turns awry if there exists too much history in absense. *shrug* i am still, after all, human
¶
a summer sky is but a picture here. an artifact to torment the little bit still left susseptible to rememberances of eden. an attempt to temper against a twinge that if preventable just might misspell the end of it.
i watched the repetative cast assunder
a second guess
a stutter step
and the rest are left with thy rememberance
when at last allowed to catch ones breath
i'll carve an icon in thy vasage
the quick and the dead
don't walk in the jungle with blood on thy hands and expect not to amass attention.
¶
your attentions have mass
if you surpass me send postcards of the golden streets
perhaps to meet in a flagstaff dive circa 1923.
chance occurance notwithstanding, but whose to see what circumstantial evidence might bring to me when electricity ceases to pass & one might drown in their own accruance, the affluence of inefficiency.
down to the gutter with thee, lick my feet and beg to be sullied.
i'll bath thee in rosewater
then you'll post up on street corner-
bring sugar to daddy. sweety.
¶
perhaps you would the smell of another upon me-
to prove that i've been wanted
repeatedly
i thought the gesture was beautiful, to relent to none but you.
i could taunt you from affar, but such would smack of effort,
unrequited.
so, ya done with me now, exit visas ensue, and such?
just be blunt, please
i like it rough
convince me there is nothing left
then i might be finally rid of it.
¶
dream of cyclones that give thee attention
the intent
to go with it
seems ominous, doesn't it
but what else is left?
was that a disscount in thy utterance
when i smell that you remember
every bit of it?
(was that a trick?)
aquiesse, relent
remember me where you and i alone exist
dream of me as perfect
is that to much to ask?
or is that why you cannot bear my countenance?
¶
23. separation by a drowning death, do you remember it yet? thats why the sense of loss was so imbittered. but admit to me our recursion and i'll leave thee to thy own device. i obsessed a bit, i thought of it as compliment, yet the best inticements turns awry if there exists too much history in absense. *shrug* i am still, after all, human
