Grieving. Impudence. Grieving. Impudence. Grieving. Impudence.
I wash my hands… of hands
Not even if everything were purple
Not for all the purple in violets…
prune-colored feathery feeling
at the back of the throat
Do you know any eligible
bastards? The world mumbles
with insufficient lust.
Doing a backbend into
sorrowful nacrescence… as if
flavored with extraterrestriality.
Will someone love me? I’m still
beautiful but I’m weird.
This dangerous construction
area – filled with the golden
apples of everyone’s roving eyes.
A cat puts up its paw as if
to beckon. Red vines cover a
building. I’m lonely
as a Kleenex.
Aggravated hot violets stroke the boys
into greasy erections: I mumble
a daft prayer.
It’s a kind of hebephrenic desuetude:
blind tasting -woody, raw wood,
touch of caraway, spicy, very spicy,
touch hot, violet pastille, big and full,
a touch clumsy, dark:
This is the hot violet eye.
Hot violet/plum eye.
Hot violet yawn
Hot violet seduction
Mindblowing Hot Violet
Smoking Hot Violet
hot Violet Abuse
FLAWLESS Mesmerizing Hot Violet
it’s “printed in hot violet ink!”
hot violet ink!
At least there was something steamy about it!