sarikha

love … a crutch for you but you wear it like a Prada suit matching handbag, of course, to keep your toys in … (mostly men … alphabetically) six-inch Blahnik stilettos for crushing egos with similar style but not via hearts - straight through their venerating eyes gray matter properly mangled into chemic chaos - receptor sites jammed while their limbic systems languish … marionettes with synaptic tendrils tied to your blinged fingertips - “dance, my darlings … this is IT!” watermelon vape, swirling out your nostrils like nicotine noodles entrancing the ‘little folk’ … oh to be the fly on your walls - the lisps on your lips to be the catkin-soft integument that clings to your feverish flesh to know the “pow!” of your empowering ego painfully marginalized for beauty like the moons on your fingernails - growing with each ouchy push of those cute cuticles … oh sweetness - how I’d transform you if I were but deity daub you daringly with my moonlight brush, chin-to-shins … sunset crimson to slather your toes pull stars from the vault to set your tresses ablaze and drape the Milky Way about your shoulders christening your surfaces with impish luster … yes … there is redemption in you a seductive salvation it is coy and tentative and wry but it captures … from your coal-black eyes to Cheshire grin it pulls the world IN like a vortex but it needs tender taming and an ambiguously selfish lover who yearns your pleasure far more than his own - who finds his excitement in exciting YOU who has no passion short of stirring yours who is here, now and only needs one dear … deliciously dark … whisper … “yes” Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, July 11, 2024