praline, masticated and bleeding out the sides of selfish slits.
smiling, comatose, in love, not feeling
Molotov cocktail mountains of mummified orgy, spun webs spilled
out drawers in bedrooms, plumeria spills around air
shaded skin slaps fresh, glistens, shakes in drug withdraw somber sunrise
in the arms of a stranger
spatter spatter, sliding of their skin on yours,
wet feet on damp bath towels on top wet floors.
the girl says, she says “I am a firestorm of your integral embodiment, I am the palmless christ... I am the anti-eucharist.... the bulimic communion.... take my body, make immortal of my blood.”
...and than to die
He never saw accessories hung so properly around a room in such a disorganized fashion but purposefully and carefully.
Hats on the corners of bookshelves, shaws draped off framed mirrors and a vanity, beads and pendants hung over light fixtures.
Much unlike last night when the hesitant light fixed itself shaking in tiny rays through the nights aperture.
whether this aperture were the stars or moons or windows, but the outlines of contents barely seen, could only be smelled.
the musk of books, dirty clothes, tepid air, rawhide, wet leather, putrescent skin?
he took her hand she lead him through the path of what was unknown,
he had a match in a cigarette pack, he thought of lighting one but did not.
“Is this him?” he said.
She fell forward, buried her face as soon as hitting the wet sheets, she buried her face down as hard as she could.
“Well.... I will need a shower before I go, when it’s morning”
This is what was said last night.
Her body said you can bathe in me. Flooded by now of thought deceased. Horribly religious was her mother and her mother before her.
vases shaped like a venus figure made her feel a warmth for women that her mother could never extent beyond a serpentine smile. Not seen now, she knew they were there, the shards kicked under the bed even in the day.
Like an effigy, the very air as life could not be heard from the lack of its future embraces with the wild as it drains out those who live within forested domain.
Crumbs of indulgences spilled at the tug of every sheet.
The summer felt to come just than as the wooded ambitions seemed to melt with the heat.
dusted piano keys swept over his eyes, bone or ivory? The same thing.
something she used to play well, perhaps just grew bored with.
they were white in the nighttime in the morning they seeped with a vacant intention of welcoming something. Taken between lips, vertical and than to horizontal. sparks rain from as high as telephone wires. she was dissected, split apart into pieces. The light did come in the window. He washed still unwrapping himself of her skin. He noticed the animal bones that slept on her floor. Piles of packages of sweets. Hair and blood and gold teeth fillings. He noticed the peculiar organization of her sparse trinkets and her hats, scarves, purses, and lockets. He lit the match for a palmless christ.
the weight of wind. a soul of nothing. scavenged for the mask of a body of a boy.
i am death.