Speed being contagious,
and the frightening shades of perfection
filled with the ecstasy of stilleto repression.
I could find equal measure locked in there I think,
In the ashy places hidden at the rear
door of your
Filter the sunlight of its essence, the golden of its
excellence. Bare in
every sleeping fiber
tender snapping of every nerve end,
sufficient to be forgotten even, secret syllables
ringing with the decibels you bring.
Exhilaration or rapture of free falling.
on the rainiest days. So only this
So only this is real. Not true,
Such lovely aching.
Created: Jan 29, 2010Document Media