‘So now are you getting it; you moron?’ 

‘No, you ain’t that easy, this blazing rendezvous isn’t easy and perhaps you walking over a dead corpse; isn’t that easy. 

Loins burning with your sweat, alcohol like, compassion like, 

with a catastrophic disposition. 

Sweet penetration…o father…sweet penetration. 

A crowning flower on your black; 

petals of no light, roots of no food, only this smothering whipped cream like universe. 

My metaphysical lust, my love less lust; for you my first wet dream also.’ 

‘What’s your point?’ 

‘Vertical emotions and magnetic murders. 

Sex for humanity. 

Catching my wind with a rusted kettle, 

and smoke kissing my psychedelic music.’ 

‘You weird piece of shit, i don’t know you. That time belongs to the oblivion.’  

‘I am my poems.’ 

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