When these messy lines manage to make pardonable sense of themselves again
This problematic place, an unshakeable atmosphere, the dishevelled aside desirably distanced pen, which shall catch the long-lasting memory – set to pour, to restore and all courtesy of a hand-heeded portrait when least quantifiable
Plays at prey-pretend

Screaming, it scams, it motherfucking scrams for the break of the silhouetted alignment
One. more. time.
And an oblong, living, seething article crucifies his bare-naked brain again, til sitting decidedly, desirably, upright sprightly and the. fight. still. appears. to be

Sordidly. on.
Pardonably strong, on song, sensuous-over-easy at letting itself be – borrowed til behemoth-ly bolsters …
The ghost which shrieks from inner-within til lifting its sullenly suggestive heart-sleeves again and, finally, inevitably, altogether fair invitingly traversing. all. of. the. way. out.

The. Other. Unabridged. Side.
Sightly. This preternatural and superficially inane, insane voice-box of needy his, which whispers and screams – that nighttime noise is rather insurmountably reckless and, if adhered to damn-right correctly, it will silkily dive ‘n’ terrifically steal …

Til swimming comfortably atop of
The preordained, comfortably prepared pieces of his decidedly deadlocked e-v-i-l.
Peripherally speaking, he is a cut-above the rest

Whilst rough-around-the-edges – a natural-born, hostile fledgling with ever-lasting grace when stressed heavily, heavenly, against a pre-nocturnal, adolescent face for make-shift make-believe.

And, safe to say, she sees him, she feels him when he is sleeping.

Kinky karrots, her lapse in concentration causes utter consternation – simply sensational

Appears to be, he’s a day-man in the streets
A night-man in the sheets – this is the stilted after-vision

And they do say that happiness is the thing with miracles put upon