What is this penetrable scented aura surrounding neighborhood railway stations? Is it the looming stained- glass gallery vampire children that envelope trolley track transit corridors? On exiting promiscuous vulnerable vulture-like establishments. Friendly concierge receptionists unravel down ticket-counter corridors and primitive materialized hallways of frivolous standardized deceit. Portrait parlor eyes amid vacant shuttered trimmings. The petite-small- hand dealing out seconds, worn spades, and angry minutes in laborious intervals, treacherous merchant screams from naive adolescent schoolgirls. "Tick, tock", one of my ancestors got stuck in a clock, local and monotonous: beating past stale phys-ed class gym arenas, (one more) got sick in the head.
I touch the night swooping down darkened birch bird-like chimney entrances, down the hatch they go, street-thug pigeons, African and American to and Afro. Fuzzy brown cemetery certainties and daytime convalescent criminals commence to pulsate and stir pulling down sultry windows along dingy burgundy bedroom curtains, slumbering afternoon wine nap-bibs, giggles, goggles, and sport past-time entities.
She hurled a six by eight metal crowbar from a residential fourth-story apartment balcony, acquiring delicate bedsores on her tepid heel-line. Clutching velvet drapery dangling sawed off carrot stem scenery in pensive agony and sourly defeat. I loved you with inquisitive tartar eyeballs peering out onto evening terraces amid putrid Summer community courtyard pastures. Rescuing you with vain knowledge of catastrophic wars and perishable glorified battlefields, all taken out of context.
The long awaited era has finally arrived for you and me, to bury blood stained daggers, restoring renovated cupboard variations to suburban kitchen upholstery. I still love you, you still love me, together will make unfathomable history.
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