aya - still i taste the air

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Me more, me more Red or blue Red shoes or blue shoes Red shoes or blue shoes On return, i wanted to hold his balls together To tell him there have been no others Sigh into his nooks and crannies But to look for cracks in his fresh coat of paint At his center now there's a hole Where our instants, elated low, to and fro It’s all just echoes in the middle distance Apparitions of all of our desire just fizzles Now latent split hairs The vanity of our small difference extinguished Four years of a magnifying glass plastered over one eye And there's me, still scratching at the skirting board again Hoping to excite that sacred spot Clip through the vector left floating in that gorgeous, endless grey plane But his boundaries, once undulating, pulsating, sit still now Bound, drab At least his air is clear now Nine hands of the white wall that i painted A saint, i flip, and i am blinded Distressed, i retreat Enmeshed, another jettisoned Among the onion skin, the darkest hours compress From this vantage, stones left unturned Burned by the yearn, i roll a rock front-side Tide's going out, let’s see what's left on a lino Oh i know, i know, i know! Remember there's that sunk spot by the washer Where you thought you was a gonner? And then pissed all on the corridor No no, we cannot drink like that anymore 'cup of tea?' he asks And i am drawn out of inspection I am sink up through the plughole Into low cue insurrection I pause to debate the countertop, but- Really i must be getting off I've had my fill, and for what it's worth I'll carry he with me Laid a knife lie back south But lighter somehow Brighter later And i’m certain, now i go back to you One night’s enough to know where's roots
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