The thought of the future we will never have, was pollinating foul fuzzy particles in the air.
slowly following in the wake of all those tasseled dreams I had held onto to for far too long.
Still, the most intimate revelations can often expose deeply hidden, unwanted, plagiarized suppressions; that we have all most likely, already tried to to forget;
suggesting to anyone on the outside looking in,
That there was a rancid cowardice, notably secreting from pores
All the while,
Boasting a loud tolerance that would be found falling with the last fleeting autumn fall of the leaves. . .
The very last colorful arrangements made of watering oranges and bleeding reds, Falling from all trees never to be seen to fall again.
The thundering, drumming, of my own heartbeat
gave my freshly dead, and over bland reactions, A new sparkling neon personality.
But, there are always those few extra fingering, lingering, successful hand gestures
reflecting a prism of tracers-birthed from the most brilliant lasers: radiating something that was so blindly gorgeous that it could, and would heighten the soul with more vibrant sensitivity.
Shadowing over the complexity of every single Kiss, that I had ever been given in my entire life.
Spinning a silk and gold web all around me
That was more intricate, than a disastrous earthquake.
This flaccidly tight response came at a price-
Leaving nothing but whispers and the wrong kind of impressions.
The time of Dignity and Grace were long gone and felt decades away.
Your tiny little temperaments helped with attempting to soothe me into a very still silence.
with such a strong touch of Romantic Readiness,
I no longer knew how to say the word “No”
Causing a stroke of sadness pass through me at the single sentiment.
This dramatic departure killed any interest
that might have supported
the abortive sorrows and short winded elations of men
attempting to market a profit off their own Tasseled Dreams.