Something lets me know when you’re simply slippin’ like a ghost put upon the road – sprinting at me with your shades put upon everlasting fire, your pretty, pretty face turned to twist, reach ‘n’ taste
The mirror-image of the screaming, scheming hot sun
 
Bite it, please, sweet dearest and deathly New York City has me
 
‘Cos I’ve been standin’ – Heavily, heavenly above
Push came to gladhanded s-h-o-v-e
 
Shall you ever eveningtime unearth me so soon as when
 
My sleeping moon flips itself on its nocturnal head ‘n’ falls behemothly out of
 
Your captivating reach again
Under her spell
 
A blue-voltage blast from all of our subdivided, heavily plundering pasts – predisposed bodyparts
 
And this shall have to always and forever resolutory remain
 
Ethereal ‘n’ forever of a sprightly night held captured/Caught nastily nappin’/’N’ loose to the blue-collared bone
 
Of our twin-peaked existences
 
As was your tender-caring, carelessly suggestive body of promiscuous bones since the eagle-eyed beginning – once upon a “crime for the lashings of never-ending money”
With all of its “touched honeypot buttons” put upon manky-handed Flame
 
Insane ol’ me, I do indeed blame a posthumous parade of peripheral people who nastily get themselves back together
 
Again
 
And come at us with their literary mindsets set upon momentarily vilified fire – oh, my… lethargically leaving us with no other option than
To fail
 
At forgiving them, though