you… sexy thing…

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hey… are you in the corridor of hope,
sniffing through the jelly pudding,
whipped cream, hot chocolate, and
baby milk with other instant items‽

⋯

hey… I'm here… in the corridor of love,
wandering through the liqueur of gods,
well held in the velvety sweet sparkles,
for the lips to get rich with their flavor

⋯

and who's the one who's going to pay
for all these delis… you… sexy thing؟‽

 

poetic audience

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the magic tips of his dreams fingers slipping sluggishly into her heart pocket caress any carnal curves of her brain then annihilates any psychic aggression by sedating her with the vaccine of love of his longing that burns smoldering the magic tips of his dreams fingers slipping sluggishly into her heart pocket is kissing the platonic texts of her lust painted by the resolutions of his universe with a distorting time in a square moon rolled in a future of an imperfect perfection and this happens just because the tips of his dreams fingers are magic...
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