loveletter

I can smell it... the taste of the ruby's scarlet light, hidden in the chest of treasured queens of the night. My meadow bright heart, oh, this earnest heart is searching quite inevitably... like the changes of the seasons or the pull of unstoppable gravity. I want it... the gem's bittersweet glimpse of vanity, broad around my neck showcased to jealous beings of humanity. My shadowing heart, oh, the deepest darkness of my heart is screaming bold profanity... like a woman full of woe or a man with a case of insanity. And all this heat in the smell & want will succumb to the beat of the cherry plum drum... playing softly

Somewhere between the city lights of misguided reality and the haze of sleepwalking dashed hopes is the living-dead girl, candid with her vanity; Bleary & tired from the highway signs stirring her insanity. Caught in itchy snowflakes that build her suffocation of the black & grey dreary day. She wants the taste of ruby-red entrancement from the dawns and moons passed by, to sail the Mediterranean Sea away. She wants flowers in Italy to see her coming and bloom like an elevator of creativity that penetrates yellow & red. She wants a street-poet in Paris to sweep up the odd change she left scattered in his hat for his sweet c

A harp's words sing to me as I step into the grimming twilight A Jasmine garden charms the scenery, Painting blush upon my cheeks to match the scarlet skies The horizons illuminate the scars designed on my feet Beauty wraps me in it's arms & engulfs me with "Tears of the Clown Violets" My dark-green, quilted eyes awake to a tinge of light My glossy, eye-catching lips shine by the lavish moon Still, a harp's words sing to me, like a sweet sea breeze trapped in a shell Invoking my interest at it's best, the mystique melodies enchant serene magic, suddenly transforming me into a passionate vine Where does the spirit-quickening music