Monday, April 29, 2013

When All is Well Tenderized

Gothic glue is stabilized to moisturize the hemoglobin of the African sunset.
I took my shoe for a walk.
The shoe needed some exercise, I saw it's legs and its feet grow weary from the rest.
A restful haven is a resentful one. Hitherto the hooks of the lever sway and stationary beavers,
call me a Calypso when you feel like it.
Nothing but an ordinary walk... with my shoe... on a shoelace leash...
most people wear shoes on feet.
My shoe is semi-free due it being on a leash but free from my sweaty, smelly, Samwise Gamgee feet.
I clued you into my Hobbitesque feet, now what is your secret, my sweet?

Plasma crusades are the jam to my waffle, the ice to my winter pond, lasers to my shaver.
Bilingual countryside sitting on toadstools yea high, sniffing daffodils submerged.
Muffins baking mysteriously, hitherto is the oven?
Land away the doves, scrapify the forty-three shrines, envy taco shell bindings.
I have believed it with my own eye
in yonder skies
that I too experience the same blue of the African sunset.
What now, do you do, my mortician Morgandy?

Scripture ooze doubly drive, surmise the tepid licks...
trial by error of kicks and cheques of marquee basket glitch.
My digital quilted blanket shrinks like a veranda of ocean dreams
but I was a fool to not capture pictures of a sun that played bongoes
over the toes of mountain ranges such are those that suck my nipple
and touch my breast.
The sun is brilliant tonight by way of African Sunset.
If you were to touch me by the sun, my kindling crave, would you?

I am your cravings of all your trench warfare; deep down, dark, dirty and sweet.
Embodying the saints of salamanders, I color your cheeks pale.
Simplifying your muscle quivers, but I hold you afloat
never the less to burry you in a cemetery lest you wish it be so.
But you are tense in my arms, and my fingers shall carve my pressure
of me blending on your space
that once claimed a distance between us, shame.

Stoop to kiss
slathering key clank
corporal bum
relatively smashed a button gum.
Eros is not dumb
stop not this fun
dubbing a still painting
brandishing sheets of cotton.

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