(no subject)
walk through the gateway, echoing voices bouncing off the aluminum, tight lipped purses and shaky hands, tight shoes poking the floor, firm grips on forearms, and buisness suits to suit their undershells, who are you really? I look at my time center, watch time compress and expand, count the seconds and turn them into timeless eternities, I am dreaming I am dreaming I am dreaming I am dreaming I am dreaming (mantra for a stormy afternoon) and my toes feel their receptors tingling from the pavement to grass transition. I tingle all over when I think about your striped shirts, and the summer heat pressing against our bodies. there is very little distance between my observance of myself and my sheer existence. I make them closer and closer until I don't need anyone to sing out loud as I walk down the sidewalk. Happiness starts to look more and more like psychosis. but there is no longer apathy. it is all blistering and peeling vividness and gorgeously breathing. I know that opening my ribcage when I get oxygen is good for my soul. you are beauty beauty beauty and I shake when I think about your crooked teeth. I don't know if I want to cry any more, I think I will laugh. Part of me wants to know how it would have been, but the other parts know that I couldn't resist your body parts anyway.