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textures (asters and taraxacum)
textures dribble nomenclature in balls of (smalls stun(t)s of) crackling then flatlining juncture man coiling eyes in to/tear/torn webs fleeting fleeting fleeting snow embryo liquid shell for vessels and i lack gills natation in arcs of spectrum that start with raining --- face less monstersinacoup saTURN spinsinstagnan(a)t-ion in Trembling, t umbling urchin urgent unfruitful nearly-d-e-a-d-wintour’s doom urchin-faced, infant haired beauty peaLiteraturesky: the gatekeeper to these miracles
the sky is rattling, trembling above. there have been a trail of thunderstorms in the last week. it's been a tumultuous week. the sky is loud. and bold. angry, sad, beautiful, grey, bright, innocent. she towers and i watch. i watch and i watch until she is done. drenched from the liquid salvo, i sit in the rain, the weight of wind and water lessening until the darkness begins to clear. extraordinary transformations, a plentiful plethora of expression lie within the miracle of you; your miraculous view. you, my angel sky, are gorgeous to me in every way, from every angle imaginable.Literaturea whispered rhapsody (#8)
mapping my palms across your collarbone, our silhouettes mute shadows; dusting themselves across the curves of our bodies. a soft smile gently sweeps the both of us. the exhale of your breath tickles our twine, as we take in this moment. gauging slowly, this containment of ecstasy bursts at the seams. a delicate melding of us, seeps underneath, as a circular rapture of two.
Literatureblue skies disappoint me (#16)
sadness is simply a normality. disappearance in a reality all too familiar. distance steeling and stealing. statements like these are just more breath wasted. simple sadness is the worst, in my estimations. just a conscious existence as something as domestic as a fly in my peripheral vision. just a nuisance. a thing that dies and returns like clockwork. and like clockwork; this goes on and on.Literatureenough.
pixelated smiles felt like such a norm at one point in my life. components of composition seemed utterly lost in filter and camera captures; but none of that matters anymore. denizens of worry and woe seem to evaporate now. when i am with you, no matter how that may be, more than ever before: seems more right than it has ever been.Literatureon fear
knuckles paler than normal, your slender fingers wrap around your scraped and dot-spilled coffee cup with frustration. your lips meet the rim in desperate attempts to wash the taste off your tongue. this is a flavor far too familiar but far too bitter for comfort. your collarbone screams at the skin above, red splotches pecking your shoulders and above your heart plate. not one for crying, tears dance at the edge of your eyelids, ready to make the jump to the next life. spiraling, you tell me is what you're afraid of. spiraling, you tell me is what you're trying to avoid. spiraling, you tell me is when the end meets the end. and whatLiteraturewar
there is a war on on plastic on drugs on niggers on spics on chinks on redskins on faggots on health on life on death on on on{i} there is a war on on bitches on babies on poverty on viruses on oil on jesus on organs on institutions on life on death on on on{i} - Literature
of course
down it comes through hair and licking so wetly skin so heavy it climbs along softness eyes close and feel each like individual finger tips so languidly they crawl over flesh the mouth parts and then closes so not to suffocate stealing in between secret breaths a moment to breathe a moment to escape all over it washes the feeling and outside of myself i can hear everything a pitter-patter like the lightest footstep falling on the ground lips wet and anticipating soft sound that grows slowly into mind shaking rumble in my head eyes open and blink for a moment as if not truly there anymore but lost in this simple sensation evacuating from the mLiteraturespace
you are cold riddled with thousands of beads of warmth I want to see every color inside of you, [to] reach the edges and realize there is no edge to become lost. Surrounded, [smothered], suffocated inside inside any blackness I want to turn desert worlds into oceans, to sink seeds into fertile soil and watch blossoms expand from the patience of [finger tips] soaked in {love}LiteratureLos Libraria, part 2
The street was filled with voices and everywhere people in masks walked in small groups, or were gathered along the side of buildings. They stood on balconies above the street and on terraces with black wrought iron fences, some of which was rusted from the constant rainfall in the city. There were neat black masks lined on the edges with gold, and simple white masks with dots beneath the eyes. She noticed a bright pink mask with feathers along the side of it that splayed against the woman's dark olive colored skin. The woman had a long dress on with slits up both sides and beneath it checkered colored stalkings that seem tLiteratureuntitled
Five hundred years ago on a distant world She stared into the bleak hallowness of oblivion In a corner of the darkness tightly curled Wondering what it was like to remember hope Was it what came down from the sky in great sheets From the belly of white giants as they slept Lackadaisy in the perforating little heart beats That poured down over them a sort of solace Like each ray of brilliant blustering light From an infinite myriad star-shine sources Came crashing together and fell wantonly in flight On the skin of other worlds beautifully irradiated Was hope the all color that came with them The drowning invisible tinted white Like the refLiteraturebroken scones
There is a mysterious engagement that I dare not, for the life of me, call upon. It is a meticulous, designed, complexity of a thing that is so overwhelming with its enormity of eccentricities and ever creeping together of close, saturated, riddling parts. I do not know how it came to be like this, so close together, so confined, so filled with complexities that seem in an almost abstract fashion, to be brilliantly executed and yet so menacingly cruel, like skin eating, necrotizing fasciit-- No! I dare not speak of it, or of what it is and what it could be construed to be. It is too much in the silence of solitude, in the depths of the eLiteratureat last she
His eyes' lids fluttered, the sun had begun coming up slowly over the horizon in the distance. It had just finally reached him, and the fingers of his hand craned out toward it. It was too late to regret, too late to forget all the wonders of the world that had fallen upon his eyes, or upon his skin and even his ears rejoiced. As the sun began to expand over the horizon, the pools of light caught the corners of his eyes and there was a blinding whiteness for a moment. He closed his eyes. He could remember sitting under an apple tree in the middle of spring. Above him dangled red globes of dappled sweetness, tiny spheres and he imaginedLiteratureMost no one will even notice it
It is starting to feel like that again Like nothing quite feels real And I am struggling to maintain that The things under fingers tips that feel Like solid things make sense But certainties feel like they are cascading Into the opposite direction Away from where my feet are landing; I was always so imaginative Never quite tethered to the ground It feels like the weight is fading Ounce by ounce and pound by pound The lack of sleep is coming back Not sleeping enough was always a fear Because sleep always grounded me Always made things around me feel more near I feel sleepless now Me without sleep is kind of frightening It all starts to bleLiteraturea white jade
Neon green hue, it ripples through the water and climbs along the walls. White-washed lime jade shapes spread along pallid skin, stealing away from the surface of creme, much like a butterflies wings. Except she has eyes the color of carefully sculpted, sliced jade-stone. Her white hair snipped short, looks like a mistake; the sculpted width of her shoulders, the muscled surface of her arms down to the ends of long stretched pillar like fingers. The frayed ends of white, dancing driftingly above the green eyes, bangs playing, terracing the steps to the edge of a world that lays only inside the soul beyond the only doors that go where road 
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