A topless ocean, waves of this naked orchestra, my lady with a lump of water on her throat.
Days…just to get drunk and maneuvering through the holes of a floating song.
World gets too window shaped…and roads too shoe shaped,
My bubbles for a love less night…cats too chilled, words reciprocating spineless orgasms.
Sweetheart…oblivion would be filled with these blurred words and a liquescent touch of hands.
Inspiration is for practilaties…we the carpenters of words…having sex with the celebration of this passing through.