On The Grass
Southwestern French kisses/Summertime sadness
Body:
A respectable woman by all terms, observations & conditions..
This is strictly not a contract to love anyone..
Let me go back, I am being carried away.
A surf film festival, warm grass, light-soft wind, and a blend of lights and shadows spark everyone‘s this afternoon happiness facial tan, why, because today was a good day.
Gathered all sorts of them down to earth groups that don't shy the Zen’s art of get your fucking ass on the grass, inventing sexiness and foreign hands, and almost just almost clapped without the religion to kill oneself. For no damn reason.
I was, simply I was.. simple.
The day of my arrival, Africa, ohhh baby Africa you make me fall in love again and again and again with life and perhaps the legs crossed to my direction “body language never lies” woman.
She favors the wild boy on the skateboard, wearing very short pants. very short, I said very.
Yet never bothered to criticize since gentle words came out in the right order after a sum of attentive listening.
Almost touching little fingers no insurance to cover the losses and there is so much to lose, fear, It’s a dangerous cruel world. Shame on me.
Fuck that superstitious tail about all the donts that no longer belong to the reverse-engineering of the freedom we fight for around the South Korean-French timezone it’s never too late to start fucking, sorry living.
Though it’s fucking o’clock!
Look at my watch, auto-sync to what matters most, right the fucking nowww.
I was way too jealous of the near future, and its imaginary presents… that never came by the way, even on my birthday.. just lots of cliffhanging exercises I voluntarily signed up for, this new suicidal app, I am so good at, a master I’d even self-nominate.
Tomorrow is a liar, a compulsive one that gets orders from the one typing down promises of someday I‘ll be the one who can, who feels such, who runs to, who treats that..
Swimming in circles in your mouthful liquids, it feels right to love you tonight, even though it’s all we have, human warmth and temporary affection…I don’t think I love you.
I love you = translated by my actions.
Until the algorithm reset my code for someone else’s charm..
Running in the park, Namsam Tower, I rubbed myself with some thick African cocoa butter and I don’t follow your seasonal guidelines of what the Springtime buds forecast, I will be banging rocks, I will be trembling feet, I I will be dancing the storms of this significant other, and let emotions drown the need for a reasonable anchor, safety is a bitch.
I came for triple trouble, I came for you.
Something to write home about.
I am your free-to-go prisoner.
Not a rat.
North Korean chat about life & death.
Preface:
Why am I writing these reflections, well….
I’ve noticed the rats’ behavior lately and was awestruck by the religious similarities.
Don’t judge a rat.
Judge yourself.
Said my former shadow.
Didn’t copy-paste pill-intake these lyrics from K-pop, promise ok?
I don’t bite.
Or maybe I do.
Thinking about it, about what I want to do to you.
Kind of yours, kind of not,
The rat.
Disclaimer:
Madafakin gorgeous…
she was, mainly
Gorgeousness shifts as our observations..
Madafakin, not so much.
At least not with me.
Even though I could probably arrange something.
(Excuse me Medium it’s caused by a non-auto-correction but who gives a fuck about your rates, let's live a little bit and forget about what actions were driven by what expectations.)
Listening to Japanese jazz, rethinking about life while the dying exclaims!
How selfish, a lonely poet holding a gun pointing south, shooting not quite shooting doubts, are staring back at the killer of our most dignified reason to exist.
