“Not being able to create art, they will not understand art.”
I have become very fond of our scuttling, our tossing and turns
Where are we going but in the arms of another once more,
into the rays of the brightest days ahead, and the soothing darks
Shadows passing by, to a classical promenade – we’re filled
with the ecstasy of a new favorite taste,
touch upon these tongues the juice of gods
the dripping filth of a fruit truly enjoyed, flesh devoured.
You dove in and let the primal loose, and used your skin like a paint brush,
Dragging across the sky until every star shone precisely how you desired,
and you desired a lot – You desired that every breath be held properly as you moved,
and passed with a right amount of resistance, a reminder that something in you is raging
to leave its mark! Clawing with every neural snap, every electrical pulse, POW – it will
leave the walls of your room dripping if that’s where you want the master work, it calls;
a summoning howl to the torrents within, dangerous, but magic always wins.