Fasten the broken heart's pieces onto the backdoor screen before the October
chill settles on the virgins draped in petals with their meek sex shivering.
There's no blade of green grass burned to the brown that the executioner won't
chew on. He knows how to elbow his way into eternity's refrigerator.
The ham and eggs that bear peeps isn't the spectral breakfast that you hoped
for. I'll wake your razor. You wake my desire. The fallacious mirage is a
prime target. There's nothing to prevent perversity's bloom now. Tell me the
truth; do you really want your coffee black?
He had heavy balls of ivory. In spite of their polish he was a wearisome
comedy in the midst of a Carmelite fantasy. The Carmelites were ridiculous in
their philanthropy. He was the final gift given and an irreconcilable hatred
arose between the sea and the sky. The sky and sea were known for their
treachery, so no one was willing to put down their money on possibilities and
potential in the tomorrow. They all preferred the bloody broom that had done
the job for the creator in the thunderstorm beneath his umbrella burning.
Elementary shapes whittled down by odd fingers; beautiful stumps now. Her
lungs exalted with old hymns that the Philistines refused to sing. The
hallelujahs and hosannas harkening back on the metaphysics of the carpentry
trade left her longing for a cool drink of lemonade and the dismay that lay
in its bitter sweetness. He had hated her hands, but now when she caressed
his face he felt the exquisite luxuries that lay beyond.