Monday 0.4

One lung masturbates its marriage to the quantum. Devised eyelids that sparkle with a rare force, a glorious concert welded to tropes across this day in vulgar autonomy, whatever skin you are today. Love this planet, lunge after miracles in league with hours spent in clouded sex. Her book I had written in two uzis posing as an adult, the lit thesis chamber affluent, division eyes the intent to square. She looked beyond by fabled drops to share the past orbiting what's wrong, pussycat?

Discretion martyrs burnt tilting that ancrestral nuance. Blue verbs, combustible slits of wind, Iam both here and climbing into the cashier's exhausting fuck of a day. Murderous hauls a glass-tongued psychosis, a chattering launch of diaspora plus the correct twenty-eight cigarettes scarred, gone black in sleep. Remind me to echo sometimes. Soprano honestly less than breats more imagined, gold for faceless detainees, too heavy for this ruin's inner chasm. Toxic by tomorrow's last race for the abandoned wing-back throne.

This image-bank here thinks of feet screaming by their hot and bothered entropy, what is endured in the conjugate quiver. Dusty plateaus reached by heroin eyes if I wanted or ever needed your space-station. Dosed bitterly of vodka, alcohol blues and forgotten snap-shots, an archaic twirl of edifice built on saliva and fur. Long yellow legs laid open to fractal, bits draping the future you, the one that caresses my desert vandalism and its supine, blue breath. Our imaginations crowded onto squirming heads implicit in offers to zoom, clean as tossed cocaine verdantry, my heart pounding tanned muscular calves, a parallel silver. You have ceased to ribbon minute details, to cascade when borne upon those mysteries that leap after poetry. Chanted psychedelic caves, we refused the heat, tasted the blonde at the back of our throats, otherwise known as the failure to vortex and current as semiotics between soft breasts.