Love In a Nut-Shell
There has always been an inter-outer over-under tender balance of loveless socio-equations as they super fit the psychosocial sexe-endices in this modern garner of pluses/minuses/bytes and scribbles mostly incommunicado inexperience and parental impreciseness as to, "anything planned", which in tomb leaves us doth a deranged desperate captive of that all inbibed prisoner **** of nun conformist adventurerers and that really, that there are just too many organic integers making for really bad math.intuitations/attributes and all of the familio do's and don'ts that creep bastardy across the years to inculcate, interfere, incase all of the hoped, promised integrity of just 2 people in love? with all that makes it their potential, not all of the hopeless, ne'r do wells, dead driven dud marriages that hoped to promulgate their failures onto the newbies totally unprepared, but willfully negative implicit on that new, and should be uninterrupted, all naked, seeing alter intense emoexplosive journeys to that wait waits, some supposes, everybody entices, everyone enthralls, quired questions, problem perplexes, initiates initiated, complexes complete, duty deforms, eerily exacts a viscous value, on properties promised a forever coexistance, but not at the expense of selfish selfness; can it be to an us award of a faceoff fervent fever, that WE, can coincide an opposite internal presence that allows us to be a universal component undeluded, underived, unpolluted by the natural wonders that are our genetic cohesions, so they can further their total promise to lead a connected life of copious love, desire and plentitudes of us-ness, disavowing all else in a socioinvasive parental wake of them vs us in all things blood/emo crass cursive? Leave them, the future lovers of us alone, let it flow and keep your, non orgasmic, loveless failures to yourself, old/tainted people of relations, lovers of social inhibitions it plays to an ill-at-ease, stubborn Igor-ignocompliance. Yes, we had Summer Love/Woodstock, but then we grew to be livestock, waiting for the senior-socioseniorslaughter pill mill. You must have some small, tinder, macromolecule of what it was to be standing in the bliss of universal underware; a long time ago in a universe far, far, away. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! the neighbors.
Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2018
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