I’m a conservative about behavior. That’s before I put on your fragrance —  
 
A calm never resolved —  
because we’re only one muppet and one Marine  
reigning over Proustian project boards, cost curves, our endless waves of shame. 

You have a libido viewable within antic constructions...
A log cabin for paired centrists, a flight down,

A perimeter of memory foam and asphalt where metamorphoses are cast off.
Just for the deep ride we round this into latinate tendrils for amnesia’s willfully
Fixed width.

Spirals discharge. You were great, shook up, yoked.

Inundated with liberty, I talk thus in mocking forms. It’s well after the game. My face — like yours — sports layers of sleep relief, realizing exponents of our wildest ambitions.

I thought as a lyricist you’d follow the leftover radiant forms — and soberly, even liberally, interact with them in unitary joy (if you can still breathe) —

(I’ve made it normal getting to this next point in our ongoing bark, bar repartee.)

The proscenium brightens. Overflow slender. 
Is it inhibiting our endowment?   
 
Knowing the ropes now, even knowing your sub-luminous substance,  
I’m clearing my life of thin comforts,   
 
stern food pecked over 
downstage left.
‘In a way’, you said, ‘nothing saved me
until we ran the gauntlet —’

Amerigo fell into swelter in untamed aromas 
that led his black olive dogs to you, making clear    
 
his off rhyme, his blank stare =  
a blast furnace expending heat.   
 
Amerigo pulls the curtains revealing the dog-permitted street  
where pet people pass by in their walk-on roles.   
 
My quandary repeats among aromas from hydrangea in labor  
Yet it’s with Bonnard’s vision of pleasure I’d be holding you for conniving to carpet silence. O Amerigo — 
Another wish unfulfilled as you and I round off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence, conquering death with more choices and repose.

Solitary dark 
when air pushes                       ..aside   
 
— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette  
 
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / seafaring language.  
I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.  
When struck a lightning rod emits ballets of dust and solution, a chemical isomer that goes into itself and turns over in our thoughts as a hint there’s commotion in the back of what matters. What matter is. Who is loved.

[adverb not here] I can’t face facts auf deutsch. I invented my elbow railing thru intimation, insinuation, innuendo. 
Also it was something I ate control-grouped by coughing.  
Never fully believe quite a theory, we never say it’s only conjecture.  
To translate costs a constellation or a bundle of heart, faint of. 

A trivalent bond forms at birth that delays each death.

There are two ambient music cartels as well — both striking poses with all their rap-operatic powers. De rigueur for now is writing over known injury to outrank others in the trivalence of thieves. I won’t do your religion, good day.

Just piano and voice. Sunken gardens with a fountain of moods dedicated to each of four graves.

I wish you had taken that job singing of thingness.  
Even so, if you could eat only one food for life, what would it be? “Take notes,” you called out. You were holding back first throbs as you forced his from the inside.     

I miss the walled city where an operator like him looks up when you arrive at this loud next step . .   

Try to remain calm. I’m going to talk you down. 

We’ll take the stairs; the elevators refuse to go with operators in them. (Ok, you there? Hi.) 

Conditions look gray — wanting you (I do), profane,
not out of calculation — how far & vast connivance
liberates us to oppose purring put aside.

In a fair coin flip, you
and I are leisure-loving. Nature’s doing.
It’s that easy
and so great I’m leaving you
my saddle in your extrication from hallucinatory delirium ..

Tho you’re still standing up front, in legacy jeans, what nature calls
trafficking with fog at my bequest lilac-dark in the air
along with offshore atmospheres yesterday and the day before.

I’ve got to hold back. Not bob around.

This is in response to the commerce-vector coursing through pop concepts, bringing unique comfort to support our cushy position in the food chain, which is evermore in dispute.

I adhere to the same late-filing rule as you. We are keepers of decades at night.

Love is moaning all right. I’m almost a novice enthusiast.. but years from now.
Then, inscrutably I’ll break down and bob.