mephausto

it has something to do with the space inbetween the top of the lo-rise cut and the top of the navel; the tiny hairs inherent there and on the tops of breasts, on cheeks, behind ears, on the neck; the place where eyes and breath meet just behind the mind; the instinctive rustle of hips' intuition; the carefeul spackling of light through a straw brim and the fight against weakness in knees.

i'm stuck there, thinking about intentions and strong values; pondering just what it is to stay balanced, to keep emotions and passions in check with one another, to make something worthwhile in the end, to last, the possibility of remaining level while remaining fluid with desire.

it's easy to give up the ones who seek to take too much and harder to find those who expect little. it's easy to give up lack of fulfillment and harder to give up the easy fuck, the willing body, the talented partcipant, no matter the emotional drain. but it must be done, must be done, and is done.

the swagger of hips resumes when thinking has passed and music reigns; once again bathed in eyesight without bodies coming forth; one more shift of the shoulders, one more loop of elbows to knees, ankles swimming in funk and head flying in groove. some internal baritone saxophone sets a tone as a pulsating bass flows through the soul to show me how deep this goes, and i know, i know, i know this dream is possible once again--no, not once again, for there is no before; i have always been here, i only choose to percieve different.

what is to come next is not up to me; everything is beautiful.