No matter which way you go, the gorgeous chaos compels me to wander close, in step, behind the trailing aroma, the scent of desire.

I have never thought about what I must write, only felt

It comes from the twilight hours, on the horizon, above the rising moon, distant worlds, marbling spheres, gaseous years.

There is nothing but deadness when feelings cannot pierce the exterior that hangs on this soul.

Feeling is what I thrive on, without it I am dead, lifeless, meaning cannot be caught, feeling grasped, the long grass hides my eyes, my peering death, that transfixes its stare onto the porch, across the street, bustling leaves, where we use to meet, nevermore, inthat spot, under the curtain high, that simmering sky, the forest of bue, shining down on you, the velvet lips moisten my desire, you sit thinking, into the air, ruminating, spectres of long lost care, the blonde locks fall, curl up on your shoulder, unfurl down your back, wisp across your face, staring out, into open space, and I reach for a pulse, for a sign that this moment is mine, spanning the universe, within my mind, nothing but the humid glaze, melting, fades.

feeling, chaotic, imagery, feelings, deep down, prickly, sticky, good feelings, tight laces, black shoes, sneaks, tufts of blonde hair, sneaking out from under the brim, frayed jeans, stepping in the rain, soaking up the clue, the pathways leading into you.

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