NYC Rooftop Slaughterhouse The air was dense and thick with that psychedelic magic. She hugged the railings allowing for intimate interaction with desire and fear. A carnal exhibition of coiling energy winding up her spine, softly. She grasped the feeling loosely enough to not crimp the hand; letting her thighs feel the coolness of the railing then forgetting, until she resubmitted her upper legs to that very same procedure. The cool air grazes her arms and she suddenly grips the rails. She pushed forwards; through the slew of wired and entranced astral projectors; a ghost on the skyline. The night affair and chemical partnerships fostered the beauty still reaching towards the milky moon resonating peachy and blue beams. They met that day like a shadowy skewed memory. They did not talk yet they shared a moment on the very same iron railing fated to create a way to touch. Deja vu, the galaxy’s ebb, howling in the night shift. Cross hairs parted and extended touching new corners of slanted emotions and gestures. The coldness of the railing was the interface in which they spoke wondering eyes set over the way side lifting and readied beyond liquid lips. Shala had a disposition that tore off brambles and branches; freeing the sun’s pulpy resin. He would glow in her travels, skywards. Never knowing that the stack of twigs gave him safe passage to new spaces where he would climb upon; a higher foothold onto which there was no need for a forgotten older self. Incandescent spirit reading magic via shifting facets of an omnibus of rain droplets. Teleporting into the richness of a wide scope of vision; buried underground where people seldom go especially with the realization that people come into your life to eradicate the coarse nature of too much travel in one day. Mediation has always been a ritual of seeing completely; mirrors reflecting and eliminating erroneous refraction. What could have been, was. The fortune of being brings gifts of unsurmountable splendor racked by the spiral staircase of chance events; like the lotus flower breathing incantation in the metaphysical. Shala struck the tide of buildings with a guttural supernatural scream that ripened on the way out. A joy resonating in the valley of apartment buildings and street lights. What took eons became a night’s work, under desk lamp and tepid waters. Why has there been such a shortage of moans? The city seemed sleepy comparatively speaking in such a place that breaches the hazed R.E.Ms quietness; the only dreamers were awake ones. Insiders went out to seek the blocky silence and the night humans hummed with him a lullaby that uncoiled the snakes green scaled body completely up his spine. Reaching the nether region in a slow undulating; causing some to shiver and some to shimmer; the afterglow wafted in the palates of changing skin tones from red to orange from violet to white. Shala sighed as his awareness of the crowd grew more vivid, tucked away were his heart shaped sunglasses which he saved for the three song encore. Only to hide the uncurled sureness with blackened eyes. His smokes folded over a half torn t shirt about one and a half times for security’s sake. “Miss out cut out dead ends best friends / howl out a riot three fourths dead ashtray diet. And the spilled milk is empty it never left me/ the moon has been crashing my party ancestral robbery.” She happened to crash my party and robbed my heart and that was the beginning of what makes up a collected fragmented now. I wish she came sooner but the crackle of howls always scared her off; this would have been an arduous task to overcome in the before. Does she feed upon my heart’s content smile or linger for the words of wisdom’s rippling tide or feast on my body; I know now which she chose. A private encore for us to share with kids sprouting tight Latin curls. “Reminders of life on an island”. Chanting down the highways of this and now while time embellishes a Speak easy of gnostic lunar rines, peeling away at us. We kiss with an intensity that marks blank pages with a visceral curl of the tongue embodying those that cut with words. The skin married by the snake’s side winding shape, seducing with the cold blood that adapts to the ambiance like slow crawling mutterings and ancient moans; stepping upon both the dark corners and light bulbs. We purchased this one building with the money coming in from the raw sun record deal I cut and it completely gave us the luxury of seven years security. Sounds like a rock star sort of move; heavy with shaky undertows but the water is warm and lucid like the words of each our lips. The color and texture fit, no sign of aging just beautiful repose. They set the switch to the balcony fans on and nestled themselves to sleep. It seemed that her nocturnal eyes shifted slow enough to ease the movement yet fast enough to stir Juno away from the calm within her ravine of sleep, finally able to stretch and completely fit soft with a polarized taut tension. Explosive with energy yet at point where the stretch was a relief falling and flowing off her thighs. She remembers feeling the transitions in her nine month cycle of birth the universe teleporting the egg and showing to her alone that magic is a personal experience and sensuality consists of the lens used. From fear to joy to the subtle heir of knowing through physical sensation. She then woke and forgot her dream as shala lay his arm over hers. In a stir she felt nostalgia of being interlocked with the moon’s sap. I underwent an odd weird understanding that space heeds the call of its travelers; picking up the tracks of that very splendor, pulsing, chaotic form that allows passage to our higher consciousness however remote the signal.
Posted on: Sun, 30 Mar 2014 00:46:18 +0000
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