Sink down into the river with me

Cerebral fluids were escaping through your tongue as we parked in the garage and made out for an hour until the thunder stopped. I was aware that you wanted to take off my clothes but I felt a hint of the demon rising up against the twilight, circumscribing our lines and curves, imagery in an instant. Perfumed whores lead the way to the resurrection, and you can’t seem to see the signs that the world is coming down with its head in the groundwater that runs off the hills near my house.

             Sainted seclusion thwarted this broad flavor of tempest, our inaction to thirst and swiftly tilt vertically towards the starlight. Sink down into the river with me, bending tides with our bodies we come to the surface as infinite invalids with our medications and syrups mixing with ebbs and flows of blood and water. Wine tasting kept my eyes shifting north to dimensions unseen by the carpet and the trainers of circus freaks. Mystery involved itself in our dealings with breeding hounds of hellfire and third-eye sightings of ice under water and breathing.

            Heavy sighs come from the back corner of my room, no one standing in the midst of scarves and suspenders, lingerie and secrets, post-it notes taped to my wall to remind me of my future, twinkling lights and lamps of all sizes, laughing postcards mixing with the reverence of the stereo. 

            Din cries in the midst of the hangover hurricane, harbors born anew from the wombs of the wounded wonderland women, abortion laws held tightly to my chest, making it hard to breathe in this sea spray ceiling. Refer me to your maker and mark these syllables as a divergence from destination. Pathways to resistance can turn and follow me home when I wasn’t expecting company.

            Muses running through their dollhouses, graves arising to meet the family, and you set down your glass for a moment to recover from the end of the receiver telling you that your dad has gone to play a joker’s hand in the world of hysteria. I seethe then in insomnia and sit on Harlem’s porch-light stoop, heavy and unforgiving. Creep show ladies scoff at the dying of their pockets more than the weight of the world and its brethren, howling in agony.

We come together, patching wounds with calm and heart-warming hands that pulse a healing fever like your grandfather did when he was alive. Death can be a brain stinging sensation of tyranny, chaos metaphored to a migraine and a mild sedative. Twisted euphoria, I gave in to the thrills of nature- systems of oppression sent secrets to the forefathers of the pyramid, sitting high on thrones of incense and enamel. 

Wait for the quantum electric, see the sun god and say hello, and then there is the forgiving the cast of masks for the torture of the youth which is the hardest eye to unblind: humanity wrapped up in its little shell- so unaware of the crawlings and carryings on of the forces of gust and sensory.