One hundred lo lee years
hit the board again
be the white
read and read again
pull the tongue that licks the lips
hang em out by the sun
breaking with each moon

∆ Neural Alchemist | Self-mythologist ∆
One hundred lo lee years
hit the board again
be the white
read and read again
pull the tongue that licks the lips
hang em out by the sun
breaking with each moon
I told myself I could be the best lover
Listen to me
I told myself I could form the fairytales with words and my own hands
With imagination and soul
Choosing to go where the sky bends
And the water calls me out and balances me
Soothed over as honey
On a chest so sweet
So deep dark and brown
Sitting under crowns
Floating on clouds
I believed it, yes I believed it
Oh iridescent flesh
what reveal you of me
oh moon eyes you never cast a blink
so nodding
accepting
the picture so loving
the picture of bristle fingertips
how high will you go to count
those of others those of mother’s
Oh patches of wild
you may never be read but all passes
all too soon starts anew

I rose. I watched him sleep
He rose. I sang grand risings.
He went to the bathroom. I sang so proud. He danced so proudly and stomped
I cleaned. He made a mess
We brushed our teeth
He drank water. I toke a shower. He came along to keep me company. We talked
I reminded myself that I didn’t own him and he remembered that he owned me…
We talked the whole time
The heavens of womanhood.
Revelations of my souls essence.
Emerging ashes saturated in a deliciously delicate black hole of grit.
You know, the usual.
And you?

Whiskey baby
I’m warm with him
The sun, snow, and all