You penetrate me, as if I were carbon paper,
beyond the walled up walls of burnt senses
chameleon skinned,
a smile that avert the world.
You allay white noise in so much spaces,
obliterate the pigment violation
of the wrong kind of egg.

Yesterday, I was frictionless,
dud thumbs to a corpse chest,
and in your words, mutated hope
shoot through vessels faster than
cachaca to the head. As if I could touch
that girl from Ipanema.

I remember you more everyday. But
we will not feel the world together,
You see, the constancy of true love
mean less than three letter words.
Shortlived as blossoms,
scatter and escape like clouds,
the cosines lighting my eyelids.

Today will be the longest day,
to hold you in, don't be those caught
in the dead long wait, across
eternity, the science of inertia.
On the eighth day: clarity,
such as a wrong abortion
lunacy of final fixations.

Yet we dance in the abysm
fainter than shadows, for you
I would commit the sin of O
Make me into your quena,
that haunted, unhuman sound
more hollow than the didgeridoo
Impale finely grained Andean deserts,
which count our ecstatic lapses.

And if you want tears
I will give you a sandstorm,
spirits running on cold blood. Acute
intoxication, protracted rituals
comes close to dimming of fire beetles,
Your eyes implore me for the experience,

I hope it will nourish the mystic in you,
help your delay inside earth's thick buzz
This is the dirty picture of us:
*whispers it in his ear*

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