Wednesday, October 31, 2007

subterfuge

.
According
to the way things really are,
they don't care what I care about
as long as I alleviate my oral fixations.
"It's all about that;
the rest is bonus."

Disconcerting blood flow bauble-assed,
everything else going to waste,
my mouth stays closed, ajar, lubricated
words, sounds in traffic, evaporate in the distance,
when we let ourselves ignore.

"There are always sacrifices."
Context, balance, tightropes;
wanting-to-be-adored-for-all-the 'right' reasons,
And in their minds they can't see that we know;
they don't even know themselves.

Monogamy. Decided by you,
or some other thing before you
negative implications to subdue blood flow reversals vivid tongue grazing imagery swelling
fear in the eternal hell;
burning sensations around the sensitive skin areas
--the romantic sanctity of closeness, so pure.

My heart's the size of a whale compared to your wildebeast;
my attention span's ocean vast, it thrives,
my guilt: an anemone,
passions: ten tickled testicles on an exaggerated octopus.
Thrive on Savannah wheat grass alone?

In the word 'luxury,'
the 'X' is sandwiched between two 'u's.
'Guilt' has nothing to do with it anymore,
when it's only a word,
a sign saying:
"beware," "no trespassing" or "stop,"
a fence I slide my lips around,
splinters. .
.

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