Jonathan M.

When the celebration ends dance nude atop the succubus bookends open one up, flip until satiated imasculate the pasta bake by filling the meatballs with exotic mushrooms ingratiate the gravitas of astronauts that mumble in parking lots atop an Earth choked with cement delay your cannibalism for lent hint at a luscious, deathful wish to vent make certain the prettys are near enough to rustle at your whispers swaying in tune, with Jupiter in June grinding nude against the Moon humming tunes for lustful loons ruining flogging fools by lighting fuels that jewel our vehicles shine the mud we came from, that we run from, that we run through, that we run with, that we can’t live without, I’ve been so without you oh, tiny demons, please believe in us again we won’t ever live here without your sin buried beneath mountains crawling up with shale clicks listening for the hum of salvation salivating sedation slicing smattering salutations banishing ravishment into a viscous vanishing goodbye