it’s a dark red, the room, the feelings, underground, laid back, the world outside bleeds from itself, we wait in one of its wounds, this wound it’s a nice cavity to wait for our reign to come, dunno, we got hands tongues cells dinosaurtoyz dreams to jerk off and we got internet, i’m feeling good, someone –shey– tells something about aesthetics i’ll pose with pass me the joint one of these beauty moisturizing face masks, you know, huhum and it would be a fucking sad teen camp movie and in this story Sal the buff cunt who turned out to be straight would die from a spell and a blade at the same time? hell yes, synchronicity, and we would hook up with vegetables and why not, i know some fearless fuckers, and i like that, some smoke, smiles –i mean: life's the best writer ever i’ve lost track fuck the aesthetics YEAH, i see heir, heir eyes purchasing me like knights, the base of heir neck shaved blond in the mirror, shey fill the space slowly, a stamina substance, giving time the texture of confidence, a feeling, one you would want to kiss in a pool of sorrow, want to shape into a strap-on cocky smile, want to wear at your friendx weddings and at your friendx funerals, wish, heir breathing, a masterpiece right, the fine gap between heir teeth porn, could my tongue fit in this? my life? IS AN ISLAND, i’m drowning here, puppies or purposes, pleasure or knowledge, language with its stretched soul betrays me, there are no words no sciences accurate, how can i write heir right? someone please call Aristote, drops of sweat speaking, is it me or can everyone recognize a great composition? can i lick the painting, mum? the curator likes your art, I KNOW IT’S JUST A MUSCLE BUT i wonder if shey like me for my good taste in music for sex for good or because i mostly shut the fuck up and listen, soft boi, pass me the joint, smile, i mean i can make great spaghetti and blow a safe in huh about twenty, minutes yeah, not so bad, right?, talk talk talk, eyes/cells/textures/setting: i’m rubbing up against the moment, sensitive, i swallow the broken swords of your stories, i studied French Theory in 1998, i’m a patient crowd, wouldn’t mind exchanging some Cixous for oral sex though, can i finger the poem, sir? yes sir, i’ll be gentle, realness/inhale/liquids/setting: i wish you would FORGET YOUR TOOTHBRUSH AT MY HOUSE, the ends of your hair still wet, a portrait, camera/higher principle/Aquarius/setting: this dark red your lavish green these feelings this, is this? a leaf a gourde a shell a net a bag a sling a sack a bottle a pot a box a container, it is soft inside my swollen heart can slice any material –history, silk, love even, i tongue the politics of it, an x floats in the air between us, you are a HOOLIGAN, an army of x now, with smooth gloves and baseball caps advertising thank you pass me the joint, i like the chiasma of our presence, its derivative sensation, we inhabit our thoughts with our bodies and we inhabit our bodies with our thoughts, same goes for cunts and hearts, i guess, at this point someone else would ask for A FUCKING KISS, i don’t, i watch you vogue towards me in your razor truth, i’ve invited you in a low voice, i’ve surrendered, the cartel simply reads: exposed, I’M YOURS, i watch the cutting-edge technology that is your mouth digital gothic really, the unquiet movie of your body, i’d like to undo your image, feel its chemical necessity, in the darkroom i’m driving, i remember, future/future/future/setting: looking at your face at thirty-two degrees, life a sudden quality, as you give me an accelerated thesis lecture on how details is everything, you’re passionate, i’m thirsty, the room shifts a little from its rotation axis, it smells like hot rubber and summer pills and zzzzzz, i pour myself a landscape, drink, DRINK, shey glow, drums drum their hurrying beats in the blurry background, my head falls chopped: you can sit on it, i like talking –only– when i fuck, like PUT A RING ON IT that? don’t stop, planets operating outside inside, in the age of anxiety some rover lands on Mars, drops of sweat approaching, i collect samples of metamorphic rocks, call them muscles call them wants, make an installation of them, call it A Fem Runway: Augmented Emotions, gestures modeling, our relationship is a skinship, yes, you can’t really see that in museums, i hate white sheets, but scroll through beds and you will find us, lovers, a timeless performance, pleasuresculptures kindly mingling with contaminated protocols and moody seas, this is the greatest piece of work i reckon: a body made intimate made a knowledge made a fortune, this is what we got THIS IS WHAT WE THANKFUL, i want to wake up with the active joy of my inadequacy: i am no straight white cis philosopher and i like that, i want to experiencewitness in awe the concept of sensitivity while you kiss me, category is can i lick the painting, mum? can i finger the poem, sir? can i swallow the white cube, the chef-d’oeuvre, suck the contemporary art, officer? can i fuck the artist? can i? shey lean over, heir hands building the air around us, i sit on top of this soft architecture, that expands as it collapses, open, i wait for heir there, i recognize the solid structure of her desire, rising patiently, visiting my ankles, my tights, chest, temples, lashes, we gonna fuck, we are already, heir system of touch, heir aesthetics breaks within me, i understand perfectly now: our hormones are poems, beauty is meant to spread out, and on heir back i write what makes good heart?