where wild things bloom

**violet girl{MM}** · 06-25-2007

...you stand like an immaculate dream and tell me talk is cheap like the analogy i associate with you and your sexual innuendo floating around your psyche like incense floating in a church during a eulogy. i pause and focus upon those pumping vibes you attempt to send me through vague dramatics. revelation, and i laugh as your conformative empire crumbles to ruins, and i try to reconcile with you in hopes that we can again speak...
...you clasp the vodka bottle with both hands, and it brings me into a mode of deja vu. i remember a time of video love and virgin haze as we sang our songs of passion, crime, and snow-filled skies while the blade glided a bit too close to our skin; skin as sweaty as dewy grass and as sweet as the strawberry essence which eminated from it. mood as blue as phlox and the nauseating smell of alcohol impairing our already clouded vision. acid brought
calmness, and your sizzling tears were for her to return...
...you dance to the music's rhythm as the fluorescent lighting frames your face until you look like a god. i watch in awe and can think of only a chill as you smile in my direction, and i am alive. i take another hit from the cool whiteness of the glass, and the blood in my veins runs cold. the sugar pours slowly over my moist body which glows like a pearl. i dance erotically toward you, and we kiss french-style as you lick the sweet stickiness off my skin,
and our bodies combine in vivid karma. no sex is like our sex for our sex is cheap...