the vaudeville kiss

dear valentine. on the fury of a tongue parody. your sex workshops. bottles and bottles. cans and cans of your orgasm aromas. and the traditional rattle songs. of burlesque and the vaudeville plays of monologues and shepherd tongues and dicks and slaps of whim and curly flakes of tongue shrill lilt bangs. deaconess moon. you fuck the sun. and the gay gods of plague. the saint of rome -the lesbian booze-maker. she is my coffee cousin of the whore house. the alcoholic night mare of the pears on bleecker. the cars on the pink honey crisps and chrome whistles. and wax chimes on lollipops. the candle lips. i have glazed with honey from the dead doves. the bees of dali. the delicacy of the selfish whir of the pike tornadoes. and the intransigent. the reckless irresponsible hag from the little villa of the oceans. i want to scream, dear valentine. and aim at your eyes. and shoot a tenderness of alkalinity. dripping, and sweating, and grazing, like cows on hills, wearing peahen cloaks and cotton. and orange peels on dressing gloves. you wear, i have seen, blood condom with fertilizers and seeds. supplant, and replant the identity of man. the woman on the strings. the flautist who killed in the bafflement of murder. in the epitaph of the oven, and then reams of dialogue. on the latitude of words, of poetry and sounds, of rhyme and the dance counties. swirling in sex and moaning and fisting in the paddle house by the riverside. this is the wild irrationality you subsume in the intimacy of your conscience. your perfection of pretense and the lip smacking jaw-breaking eye-killing dangerousness of the 30 year old granny-fuck in the plague fields, makes me want to break the wall of my sensibilities. and throw a fit of love, wilting and crowing in the apostasy of the perplexing breakdown of my structure, for one second. the satyriasis, the maniacal, the hormonal and the diseased. clap like dolls, and smoke in hisses. grass and sea weed, and manure from the garden house. and tug at your belly chest and the stylization of your human asphyxia which makes me want to kiss. in wraps. in shreds. and rip the anatomy of who you are. i want to know. i seek and run. and fleet and sweat. and whore each night. looking and stopping. and risking the togetherness of my morality -what exists i cannot tell. i am no believer in the fatalism of your tribe. you want my objectified stratified pieces of body frames and you know what? you get it. i get it. we shoot. and cringe in the disappointment of what could have happened if we were two. and didn't pray to the bisexual gods. the immaculate virgin, died on the cross. the man in guilt. the father -in suicide. and pill overdose in the beseeching for peace. the vaudeville kiss. the time of blood. thousand feet. and learn to blow, what i did for love.