The methodology of beauty:
between piano chords, we listen to the rain fall. It splashes into the river. I am gone, lost through holes knife-point whittled into a set of reed pipes, lost to the rising wetland water. Each heart-beat is scattered, coordinated like a flight of swallows.
Homesexual romance is like a broken mirror. Two friends, two lovers, miss-matched comedies and tragedies. You’re my better half, seen through a raindrop, wobbling with delicate viscosity and falling with perfect arrowdynamic slant.
Our bones are one. Our flesh is separate and stinking with perfume. In a series of dancing angles, we break like silk. We share our breath, our dream-scarred cigarette smoke, our deep-belly sorrow, through the sacred gate of our lips.
To love is to desire the goddess, to lose yourself between beats.
between piano chords, we listen to the rain fall. It splashes into the river. I am gone, lost through holes knife-point whittled into a set of reed pipes, lost to the rising wetland water. Each heart-beat is scattered, coordinated like a flight of swallows.
Homesexual romance is like a broken mirror. Two friends, two lovers, miss-matched comedies and tragedies. You’re my better half, seen through a raindrop, wobbling with delicate viscosity and falling with perfect arrowdynamic slant.
Our bones are one. Our flesh is separate and stinking with perfume. In a series of dancing angles, we break like silk. We share our breath, our dream-scarred cigarette smoke, our deep-belly sorrow, through the sacred gate of our lips.
To love is to desire the goddess, to lose yourself between beats.
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