Thrill in the foreboding

Magnetism to meekest of them. 

Is prescient which fright

your chest heaving.

To the sporting of them

I am the bane of the citizenry.

The environs rake and hiss false progressives

when summer swing of festival.

The boys are wilding.

 

Foresee I’m match with her pedigree.

Her high mind and the degrade to my face.

A slow moan to shriek of octave.

 

The lonely it echo.

A smile affable to baring teeth.

The grin is sardonic and my humble waning.

Bouquet of fatigue, sweat.

When it turn and eventual succumb.

The R.E.M. is real.

The R.E.M. I feel everything.

There is fete of which the fright commence.

It is point of order the nubile. G©

 

I’m living like she’s coming and I’ll be ready. With clean sheets. Blankets. Bath towel and wash cloth. A chessboard. Wine glasses. Music. Poetry. The bed will be warm the morning after. The breakfast filling. We start the day with the sun. The sweet song of birds. Sight of squirrels on rooftops. An oasis from your world. 

I’m the man for this cipher. Make time for me and your cellars filled with life. Imagine pain is fashion. Tell her sister siren. Cause Celebre. There logic in the role. I charge from the head. Before the source, was sound. A garden for everyone. To the house I’m most likely. I trade on third eye. She’s tossed in the quick. Impassioned guile and repeat. She’s ample and warm. Once more rollicking. Given wear and when. The order she trade on. She want from the all day parade of the macabre. The isolation and panic therein.

Social science of the modern rogue, I’m ordained. One night of festival into nights of game bird. The level of ours beyond material. She count these months as vital. A shared effort and sport. The culmination of the nightmare. Just the beast she need as guide into the wicked and the potential end. The all-day rain. 

Muster affection in the strange. Call for strange put forth. The strange consummate and the hour make the seek the more epic. She in pose contort the both of them. She draw from him in master stroke. I am  all the grit in the ----, almost volcanic. The iconic parkway and the market. And bewitch that cover the lack of humanity. The stop and stare kind of hunger distinct that wash over the senses. Purveyors of fat on parade. Account the strange in electricity. Cessation of graces. The craven what will, loose of the feminine. G©