In the pick me up eternal the strange blood flowed through proteins of rocking solid mineral I found it in grounding ducks into alley doors in a hidden Victorian gas unknowingly breathing it in
she was years of sand and a talk of it's form and a shape of the ages she was years of sand
and in it all, shedding portraits of dying cherry tree blossoms
In the pick me up eternal I have seen your son I've seen you in red lamp light on glass tea staining my tongue so black I bled from your reflection my eyeballs these days cutting loose visual frustration your attraction overwhelming old values shorn sick shirt down so low, breast exposed narcissist in bloom
I've been years of sand I've been of it's form in the shape of my ages I was years of sand
In the pick me up eternal love is in the earth clock stung timeless through smokey quartz I've seen your heart ageless an hourglass a timepiece waiting to eat and be eaten troubled in your patience for the clock struck sun
muted spoken french digging for a sugar high. Emotional intelligence of the post rave. dj baby (where are) yu now? compli-mints on the bus, followed by a burnt tongue sip of you are so pretty, strong brewed dollar coffee.
waiting for mel gibson outside the worlds market. I syphoned my heart through my hands and sent it away on route to Saint-Laurent pvc bondage wear romancing the pavements along with bike blunt spoke culture. Too fucking cold to strike may, your goth, your goth. a coat mistake, weather complaints.
billy idols breakfast club hit on the radio. locking into this emotional unsure, I could be sure this rock was mocking me. wiry down to bone, bone to under skin tribal tattoo.
holed up in 6 am dream speak. wrapping you tightly around my wrist. a blissed out alien filling in my body in which there is something so sure to miss. eating in eyes of constant longing in time, you and I are matter clock struck molecules seconds curl into you. minutes last. never would I have been able to mix this art and craft pulling out of us. pulling blankets around the underwhelmed bed you have me. heading east with the mid body living rib cage xylophone empty air kicks at the growing crack laceration on my heart this novelty pencil is digging the depths of me single week passing with lost sight of light and shadow a seven day descent crescendo where words fall sluggishly into bucket end. a sonic curse of the calender marking rapture, to measure a heinous break of ritual. you and I, in time.