Soft Inter Transience (song)

(intro)

Soft inter transience

Winters cold touches us

Brewing our ambience

 

(chorus)

Halt, above my heaven!

Feel, outside etherial

 

(v1)

Dance all the way to the centre of your mind

Find the inner tribe of your feelings

Just look up to the sky, the moon is sitting high

Find the inner tribe of your feelings

 

(v2)

Perfects just a word, not a place for our kind

Find the inner tribe of your feelings

You look at you, your shelling your cocoon

Find the inner tribe of your feelings

 

(v3)

Buttfly you rise, out from inside

Find the inner tribe of your feelings

Fly up, fly up high

Find the inner tribe of your feelings

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Pointillism of pores

I’m sitting on our bed, watching the darkness creep across the street

Little cicadas children hatch in the roots of the trees to crawl up and I start to forestall a night of cream shrieks

out of my clothes, naked and known I wait silently anticipating

titillating

participating

the shown

I want your momentum, your dreamscapes, your flesh against mine

Sheath, shell and reap the kisses and the teeth you touch against mine. Deep inside me, heart beats like the calling, I hear this warm cicada night

Stars bloom my night orchid swoon, engorging like a harvest moon. Cicadas scream as we bloom

Upon my form of lyre, from which I do desire, comes the flanking crops

Up and too, into hear, pain into ecstasy, upon my rear

Purple, your work, draws it’s words

And now, from into your mounds to I give chase, for milk and honey tunes do I need to hear

Faces meet for a repast of lips, it’s a very nice trip, but oh what a trick

I feel your hand below my hip

Little footfall fingers walking across my soft pages, reaching my spine and then down to the other hand playing the next

Often one can feel you break the dam, only to find beavers build it again. Oftentimes I would probably feel anyone but you would fail to break mine so much, that the rupture would be better described as a flooded basement with creaky house attached, but it isn’t possible to be so blasé. I’m flooding everywhere, creaky house pouring like the rain

Down and through this all, my timely means to get to you is but not delayed. For sure as the flood does cease, I am willing it likely to come again and again

Then taste, a good thing inside my mouth, sitting down around a bout, I’m twisted sheets and tongue attached, into caves, crevasses and cracks

No area is to small for my place to drink, lick or eat, it’s all a better meal than ill have this week

Lacertae II

Ducks. Moons. Eternity. Tamed memory.

Little things I keep alive in my mind.

Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had. It’s still hard to find anything that will ever replace.

Eclipse. Moonshine. Moonstone.

Pentagram, in a illustrated book.

Never, ever, even being.

Your words that saved me. And these little things I do. Again. Again,

Pain gone? That’s a comfort. For some.

I’m trying. Trying to be worthwhile. Again. Again.

Desolation in the empty.

Insidious clouds empty snow. But they are fleeting. Dissipating.

Worthwhile? What is that to a tiny snowflake? To a duck on the lake waiting out the rain? The life that flows through us, it’s trying always to escape.

The world, the essence of it, comes from our little bits of time.

Yours, to brief.

mine still lingering

I ask why

Crosses in cloudscape

Two eggs, laid down by the corridors

Sure as mortal days escape by the west coast

Rolling boulders feel the way of the mocking birds

Roasting legs dripping starlight onto the verge

Up in my estimations, high sky crosses the absurd river of ice

Titanic served salmon on a bed of white rice

With such luscious little smiles, scales and forgiveness in the rails

It’s the day of the cowardly snails

Specks (But I do)

Freaked with pink specks above the wing, oh Pegasus

Length of your abroad sailing on that rack

I struck by saturnism, a soiled being of mirth

Naught, uncle verily sold unto me a fandangle disposition

Oh mooncalf I hear you spake, the numbing cheat would but be a faster expiry

Fain I am, I call

Gods acer, you be in amount regardless

Such day, yea I drink from young blood of ye?

Neigh, it be but ague to your conistution

Slipshod my night, soon but I do.

Tendril islands 

Gentle careful aches for touch

Much sense filled to almost brimming

In your kisses I am swimming 

Bring, bring us tendril islands 
Let’s go together 

Lost on our island forever 

Never, ever be anything but us

Oh, flounder and thrust
Tickle, trickles into a caress 

I’m sorry but I might make a mess

Wispering silence as much as you can best

The lick of a breast 
For long our nibbles

Trouble with tribbles

Plays quitely on your TV

I steal a kiss passionately 
Clever girl, your gasping breath says

Tendril of your tounge finds

Sipping your wine, for it’s time 

For partaking of mine 
Tendril islands

Put into motion

Drinking this potion

Lost in my ocean 

Murcury is not dead 

Kill the message.

Kill the messenger. 

Murcury is not death, though

His is as deceiving as any one can tell

A theith and a lair, Larunda will not tell though

For cutthroat Jupiter hastily cut out her tounge 

You may think, that Murder has beseeched the messenger of the gods

You forgot they are just as tricksy as us if not more

But what else is a god, but the very hardened psychosis of us poorly mortals 

Demons on the Moon

Listen to that screech Hell is about to be unleashed 

Silver death comes to those who are not prepared 

Nightmares born of dusty dreams 

I cannot think to compare
Beyond, beyond, our reach

Demons reign in caverns deep

Black smoke rising. Stench arcrid ensnare 

Step on skulls full of grimy discusting things

A world beyond me doesn’t seem to care
Listening and hiding in this shadow

I’m very sure I’m being drawn to be like them 

Marrow and blood flow from my skin bare

Pick my pistol up

Shoot them, shoot them

I’m sure your going through the same flair 

Into that deepness

I gaze, I find myself inside your eyes 

That deepness that blooms warmth around

Arises reflection of souls beyond this deepness

Clouds, dripping our rainbows through the sky

Wispers of lies, wishing for the gentle touch of truth 

I’ll be a roundabout, we have both come out

Tingle of frying fruits, creame and vanilla 

Yet a continuing riddle of what we ask for dinner

Scratch, bite, tickles, the day star yearns 

I’m so deep in those eyes, dark, mysterious / will I ever learn?

Significant halo, insightful tangle

Looking about face

The soup of her favorite song in the air

She takes her halo off

Polishing it for the first time

Covered in crystal hatreds

The mess these mortals make

Chords of their lives weaved in knots 

They scissor hands and scissor deaths

Looking at this moment, at her own thoughts

Knitting, striving, fated black ropes

Destiny, in these times

It took so long for her to be aware of this 

A warm feeling of the subdued grey lingers

Non one calls her by her name 

They have a word for her, and her 

Woefully worshipping, in the hope

Silently despairs, in the hate

Significantl tangles, a messy weave 

She’s not the only one who weaves

They do, themselves make it, their are others too

Like, above and, ever pressent 

Immortals is the wrong word

They are: Longen. 

Spiders, birds, books, wombats, nerds

Riding the noises in the forest fae

Spiders, birds, books, wombats, nerds

Strange library, evergreen, oh don’t mind me

Pinky promises flowering essence, cool Ghostly presence

Little strange new dreams of machines, none of them clean 

Rocky colors, shook the duller capture 

Fresh kill to the bones of the Trill, they’re after the carrion fill 

Hot cups, gimlet luck, blue blood, true mud

Flicking others, shadows like cothered muffeled mussel 

Dripping with spite their is the spike, and the hill of the place of the armsted respite 

Besides that their it is, a spokesman for the next new species 

A fairy and a robot, a gathering thought, waves

It’s hand is up, sucking on the teat

Newborn, but not a newcomer

How quickly will it learn? 

Of the spiders, birds, books and nerds? 

Endures, the Perl

Well that wasn’t even the justice of the curls in the system 

I’m sore as a whole bunch of petitions 

Piles of cheats and gassing hermits in leering metal boxes

so I hear they melted down the ox’s

Great beanie islands, sitting in a million times their volume of views

Ques, cues

I anguished. I stepped. I swore are you doing not the right sight. That true box of things that weels it’s place, seems to know more about your directions 

Curly, your just like them 

Grenadine, mixed in tears of a virgin

Lonely, like a oyster 

You will blame the system then the others

Never see the ocean of muck you are in

Is that your fualt? Your future?

I’m just a pearl

I’ve got no cleavage to cut with

I’m anguish, I’m hatred, down into the salty sand I will fall when your gone but a memory in the heart of the ocean.

I’m part of a potion

Coming into the second hands higher than thou attitude 

I’m just dirt. I’m not nothing, but it’s how some will see me. 

Bailey

Root sum of the east

Plating his mustache with an air of efficiency 

Standing guitar ready to play, black leather jacket has seen better days 

He takes his breath, starts to sing a tune that summons

Ideal of summers warm like lime cordial long since past, winters chills that sends shivers that last

The people come and find his song, travel with it to this pretend land long gone

Walls that build a civil society above the sky looking at the land below. A vision of perfection

A mouse sends postcard from the wainscoting, telling us of all his shopping. Is this another story? Song? Or are we asleep.

We feel but meek. Weaker and poorer and happier, as we realize how perfection isn’t meant to last