What's in a Dawn.
🌰🐿️
The whole damn thing is a rotten mess. Let’s face it. Why even bother getting dressed?
The whole damn thing is already disposessed. Tumult of hopes and dreams tattered, unrepressed.
The whole damn scene is flying now, long since early hints and wisps, wave’s break piercing canopy, gloam rendered, specks of white turn up the volume on a cobalt tune, The Coming Day.
The whole damn thing is rotted to the core. It’s all so fucking hilarious. Chasing pigeons, shooing cats to protect and watch over the flock. Feed littles their morning seed, smudged and sludged putrid compost sneakered in, stucked in creases and crevices, crevasses formed between the beds and the lawn, servile to speed, too dim and probably walking a somnabulist dream, a fabulist unwittingly dragged back onto the recalcitrant path, marking the way back, fending off a determined lot, especially the avarice of one persistent critter, stretched claws, eager jaws for one more nut, this one the last one, promises made and promises broken because you both know more demands will be chirped, squawked and (maybe faux) reluctantly ceded. The babies need their nourishment.
O, My Soul.
The whole damn thing is a rotting stench, one that now permeates this alleged safe space where everything seems sudden in upended, disjointed, cluttered and gone wrong dreams.
The whole damn thing is a rotten miss. Buried deep in your device against better angels and their pleading judgements, against your preference, searching and combing for that forgotten address, that file you forgot to attend, the one you didn’t bookmark nor save, the one that got away like they all eventually do, leaving you in a fit, bereft if, for no other reason, to channel the rage at unloved existence.
The whole damn thing is a rotten test. Your equilibrium still not found, healing process tenuous at best, teetering between callings, better judgements caving to your cravings and depraved longings for a gap to fill the void, the sorrowed, unbeating heart inside your chest, the one between her legs, gently parted to welcome you aboard, to slip into her dew-soaked folds, wrapped now tight in her arms, a gilded home, nuzzle gruff whiskers and reluctant lips, accompanied by grizzled fear, a whispered, improvised refrain, something silly like “I love you” or “Daddy knows” —
LMAO 💀. Come On, Man! Really? 🙄
🤷♂️
Do Better! Now Where weren’t we???
Here, left on your own to lead, follow, flow into the delta, trek deep the forest of cavéd delights seeking a way to write the wrongs in this life.
The crest. The rolling mess. The test. The time to confess in her ear, graze against her clench of fits and moans.
The first crack in the shell, tiny drops. Existence in drips all lovingly over tender neck, down satin breast, a guided sommelier’s chalice to offer whiff, a taste to swish, spit, decide it will do, inhale the rest, drinking from her thirsty trough, down a delicate throat, incubating, nursing, an IV drip injected into the love stream, palleted mouth, warm and soft, full bodied shaft, letting it breathe down a greedy gullet perfectly made to consume, consummate a sweetly discovered finish now at the creep of dawn, coming clean, all that opprobrium drenched, the fires barely lit before they were quenched.
Finally, in an instant, a fissure reveals, night takes her bow and yields to, day. Inevitable sunny side still a ways away but for these glowing white flecks in her eyes, marbled contours of a firmament’s frame, slowly receding dark to lay blended celestial cues over the canvass, colors skies and seas, textures in hues not too far from where you gaze out onto pastures richly blue, too bright now and too bold, too beautiful to return to that mood.
The whole thing was a rotted mess until you decided to get undressed. The shadows fill the sky now as the birds arrive, traveling north by northwest, welcoming travelers, residents and guests one and all to the coming day that lies up ahead.
Soundtrack: