surreal piping  

monkeygirl1971 47F
20 posts
8/28/2006 2:48 am

Last Read:
9/29/2006 8:57 pm

surreal piping

There are grave artistic renders in my head. There is this cool liquid infusion about surrealism I enjoy. Ambiguous of the sumptuous mind flowing rapidly over flesh. Eaten magistrate, wafting fool odors over ardent young teenagers treasured memories. I couldn't be a tease even if I tried, false accusations never rambling my way, well at least not any more, not from sound minded foes. Enlighten me a bit and lead me not unto temptation for I find it flourishing every where I look and loneliness engulfs the timid soul of my revelries. I can feel it on my tongue and the lucid orgasm that taints my flesh with giddy laughter rolls to and fro like dark passion in a pale blue night. sumptuous, doesn't is sound good rolling of the tip of ones tongue, sumptuous melancholy, sumptuous lust, sumptuous passion, sumptuous butterflies flitting about in the corridors of your brain. Wouldn't Andre Breton be so proud of me, only if I don't attempt to paint a surreal images with a brush I suppose. Murky depths, entrenchments, spitting fool disease into my eye. I can't hear the soft voices and the ignition of the engine, a fire light beckoning into the swift fleeting sensuality of flesh on flesh tomato based soup for everyman tragedy is without it's own longing.


rm_e1senkrote 50M
2 posts
8/28/2006 5:16 am

(...because I can resist anything but a challenge, and replying to that is certainly a challenge...)
What rough company is sumptuous solitude! Its silent heart beats against cold bone, measuring timeless hours in torpid ticks. Its vapid voice fills the waiting hours with silky reminiscences of future liasons. Walking softly away from approaching footfalls, it refuses shy companionship with anyone but me. Solitude has kept company with other lovers, but refuses to acquiesce to a ménage et trios. Dreamless oblivion ties me to the bed, a secret rondezvous that solitude only suspects. Still, everytime I return Solitude welcomes me unquestioningly, and fills the hours without experience.
These words are giftwrap without a present, an trick-or-treater's empty candy bag. Meaningless description is a soulless passion, an appetite quenched only by nothing and finds plenty to eat. But description that rebelliously defies logic shames solitude into retreat, sulking in its own attentions. It was time we saw other people anyways.


rm_ORB486 58M

9/9/2006 3:17 am

So like a fart trapped in Queen's raiment pensive posing as a quenched star loosed in Neptune's nether region.


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