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COUNT TWELVE |
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Written by Amanda
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Tuesday, 21 August 2007 |
we were the downbeats pinned into
a puddle.
it started as the buoyancy of its own
gaseous decay. my eyes
keyed themselves into a security and
we were the downbeats pinned into
a puddle. a wounded courier and a pledge
that was tangible and
faintly perilous. it had its edges and
was peripherally threatening. we found
its proper assembly while jeering downward.
details were wider than even the
protected that were unfocused and inhaling.
with a soreness so loud, the
almost artistic curves and shakes of the
sunlight made her reverse
a conclusion. her smiling eyes rescind what
do not fit into a
pocket. the numbness of it all, with a heavy
breath and ramparts
further evading with each night foretold her
tactic. we further diluted her
eyes, an earning so grasped, the evolution
slips on its own red
sweat, between the fingers of the humid
fringes of her throbbing thoughts.
what was effortless then: the rapture of
warmth. the blend of the
spectrum and the justification of tense
muscles that extract your confessions. the
moonlight is just a depiction of what you
do not possess, a
stringing scorpion ready to dance with
the sunlight had it been granted
wings. and all that her and i threw into
the atmosphere, from
strenuous deviations to hollow movements,
to abandoned screams and flattened boundaries,
they created this brightly acoustic lens to
accentuate this fateful phantasm. and
with a concluding duplication, i recognized
that when the sunlight echoes off
of magnificence, it will ultimately carry its own beauty.
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talkSMACK!
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