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Breeding | by axiom.atic
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I enjoy the emergent features in my body breeding, the way my hands close on you, the way my eyes are capable of describing the colourful and seedy scenery that surrounds me. Inside and outside of the light-filled bubble I inhabit your blood keeps me warm, your crushed watering voice lives in my womb and I save the foggy memories for the day next.


Out in the streets the eyes my teeth rip apart, the casual shoulders my fingernails slash, the shining invisible my chest touches, out of the blue the time lapses and the washed out colours induced by the smoke are gone. Holding a pencil with two fingers a view from the dwarf-magnolia tree to the entry curtains, I can feel both the life and waves between my fingers bordering to abyss and the dying quakes of cars going by.


The back of my spine tingles when I think of you, framed in the morning when all residents walking their dogs and homeless still hang out at Logan and cars and I feel like a fool with the sun trying to keep me from going to bed, twirling and jumping. There must be stages between love and monstrosity that I do not know. When this will be over and there will be no more work to do you will tell me what they are.


I go to the front garden, feeling too heavy to take myself out, yet unable to stay indoors. I like the view through the main gate, a framed and layered low angle view of the ground at the bottom. I hear you screaming in the late hours when all returners have returned, forth and around through these alleys and corridors where clients have established themselves with their habits and friends.


The sunset lasts forever with one german family in towels winding up carelessly on the benches. On the open-ended scale of fun the neighbours are curious to draw. Sidewalks are turning grey, heavy and wet. Eyes are sticking onto the poles and staying there. I stare at you and poles start swinging. Walking right into the water, focusing my fangs on your neck.


A girl busy with her juice while ownership and waitresses and options are discussed, the trends, the future plans. In time and days the crowd changes. Age, hair and colours change, music fades into music as the disco at the other end preps for another round. I pull the door open. Tilting my head towards the stars I raise my arms up to my head closing them together until my hands meet. Everything turns into nothing.


NOTE: text is mine

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Taken on September 27, 2013