Appetite

Spinning out of my intention I am interrogation of the womanly bat formation; she withstood the initial blast of suspicion, now coming upon the finale she is playing dead. Well she is dead so I do believe she is beating the rap; damn I thought I was getting somewhere.

Her abdomen pains of food while night creatures feed; organs ripen as fruit sweet for fermentation, she is a strange alcoholic beverage, I suppose one who adores her would deem her an exotic wine. She cannot eat much, the digestive system is morbid of desire for such, excreting every piece, turning over internal flesh, guano richer than fertilizer is breaking down as she is rage for the machine; she does not care for the sewer although that is where earthen disposition rests.

All too curious of the madman's text, enticed by cherry blossom buds which form the neck to shoulders of a Beau we both confess; she desires a vastly vivid description. I doubt the writer will get the hint; for her sake as curiosity will admonish the kitty from the house, I desire for her to experience the same.

Flesh is without a moment lost as I am thick crimson underneath blush wine of purple mini dress brushing the lavender double breast tail of a bachelor not of his choice but that of whom wears vanity for a ring. Veins articulate this personality I recall stealing the stars from my sky as his own; he cannot hide from anyone. As he flushes the center artery of my spinal cord into an octopus sensual organ the melon juices without a limb to hang.

Daydreaming of a photographer embellishing her attentive existence, she floats into another dimension. Appearance of last night was eventful for her angst of ego; she dreamed a literal half man inside a taxi cab, size of a British cart which travels only roads of bleak dullness dimmed by massive installations of oil invention; the destination a dark apartment. There he sits in a coat closet recharging as a battery; blue to green of artificial illumination smiles oddness on his eccentrically beautiful face. What dimension is this?

This photographer must be a dream; she fantasizes a fluff beach wary plush sifting over ocean water falling into the cave we dive. She wishes to know him in this caged realm; she desires to share a perch to sleep.

My hardness is impenetrable as instinctive emotion.

"I cannot believe my eyes..."

"I cannot either..."

"Incredible yet sorrowful..."

"I suppose that is life."

"Life is underneath your dress..."

"Underneath my dress wishes to die."

"I think now this affair ends."

Now is never present; my crimson warrior opted not to shake a spear in his kingdom.

"Mine is purple..."

"Mine is red..."

"Regardless you are my Ruby, more precious than any jewel, you are my solidarity."

"Nevertheless you are my Amethyst, wealthier than treasure reflecting upon me as crystal."

Distant from me again she is exploring the blind physical realm of sentimental objects; she finds a lens. Eye shut for those without; eye open for those within. Faint I am, she is not; rather a wisp of ghostly fumes carries her away. Indeed falling for a camera while pictures whisper everything, man nor woman can catch this fallen angel, only the dead is her confidant. Cemeteries await her confession as the priest dismayed of regression; I witnessed this event.

"Forgive me Father it has been never since my last confession as I am never without sin...."

"Dear child we all fall short of God's glory."

"I fall short for a man."

"Is he a Christian?"

"I sincerely hope not..."

"Is he a Catholic?"

"Not quite as dreadful..."

"Do you love him?"

"I do not love or hate him. I infatuate a dream which he exists."

"This you confess??"

"Tis a sin is it not?"

"What sin is this?"

"I madly desire his touch."

Removing the curtain quickly as intervention, leaning towards her is decency beyond her expectation.

"My you are a gorgeous priest; you are in a running suit as well. Whom do you run from?"

"I was jogging as I saw you come inside. You are quite noticeable...."

"I am?"

"Especially your hair........you are the lion I speak of inside every man."

"I am every man's lion."

"You are mine as well."

"You are not every man?"

"I am part of a man. I will be whole when you touch him."

"My dream?"

"You will touch your dreams...."

"I am lost inside a nightmare."

"There is where I am."

"Tis not a sin?"

"Absolutely not..."

"What is a sin?"

"Hiding from your self."

"I am a sin."

"We are all the sin you chastise as your being."

They both jog the bricked road, color of many skins, one in black nylon the other in pink.