...stand close becuse our hearts dont touch anymore...
Through the liquid barrier all things seem lucid but still within separation. Bikes and sacks and opened window panes with no walls to sustain them. Hydrants with no fires to supply them. If it only knew the one 10 feet away was burning so brightly that all could see. A pyre raging and a floating cruciform holds as the fires grow taller and lap hungrily at feet. Ambigramtic LUST melted into the skin of the chest. They'll find it hanging legs resembling a candle with the wick still intacted and waxx runn off. CURVES. That is all. Subconcious cravings for form and line. Art is the culprit not instinct. Look for symmetry and visual pleasure. Aural and psychic adornments fall somwhere in the perifery. IN THE EYES! The point of origin of all that is attraction. Slippery concrete hormones interlace with lonliness slumped in a doorway huddled with a tattered carhart and newspapers as a shield from the bite and cold of the real truth about cats and dogs. You cant be Bogey or Joe Banks youll never be the good guy who has a black and white situation for infatuation. Everyone is dead at my feet and i the hand that killed them.