Are we less superior to ourselves than realization?
Our temporary shell, our salt, our generation.
Our streamers flutter like snow in Antarctica.
longing and valid expansion, made of mica.
Striving to liberate us, it rips apart its body.
Once again, envisaging us embody.
Systole, diastole, adventure indiscriminately.
The wide open oozes a scent of love imminently.
Shimmering between each of the drumbeats.
Summer, you are the windlessness of such feats.
We ate, kissed, cuddled, and then supped food.
A day's total is a unit of measure for what you lewd.
Need and desire exist in an interdependent reality.
We bury our bodies as a sign of our mortality.
The fate of our remains while wearing the shell
The land utters us the title of a spare body smell.
Synapses are memories, and we are waiting.
In order to cross its boundary, there is no gating.
Written: August 09, 2022
which way is your wall facing
is it all built up with fancy gating
was it built to keep things out
or keep things in
is the chain with the lock
on the outside or is it in
what is it really that you keep safe
the outside world, from you unchaste
the filthy possession and secret tapes
unbrittled desires to fit your taste
what is it really that you keep safe
weapons and trophies brought from abroad
stolen items that were bitterly lost
rooms and chambers dedicated to sin
is there really someone locked within
what is it really that you keep safe
drinking, drugs, smoking and sex
all kinds of activites, what ever feels best
block out the eyes that may see from above
keep hidden, that these are the things
you really love
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