ROMANTICISM OF WORN-OUT MEAT

You can still cling to hopeless, eternal experiments! To dance on the rippling, sacred sea of tender and delicate romances, the bizarre, otherworldly lights of deer's eyes. Stigma-sheets in the bodies of mythical desires, in the bodies of pure, naked, naked bodies, as if the mother-like lack of completeness were repeated in series. Would it not be a bad thing that superstitious starry eyes should be but the resting-places of the loving, immortal desires of the All! A ravening multitude of blood-molecules clings to the bewitched human heart; we have dipped, many and variously, in the chaotic mire of the flesh. 

So good to taste the worldly delights of gaping lust: the secret, inarticulate speech of hot tongues roams with quickened speed the alchemies of sinning bodies. Unconsciously, they are already clinging to each other, and there can be no redemptive liberation if they listen forever to the sure, telepathic sound waves of their love. Piti thieving, vile fountains of pleasure are dispensed by receiving: how many nerve fibres would transmit the bliss of a gift of self-given bliss?! - As a lost axe in the throat, how should one preserve the memaradtan called to life, calling people?! The reef of opposition first runs aground, then surrenders itself. 

No pity for the full and rich glances that lure to bed. Slowly the self-revealing, self-disclosing, self-treacherous Heaven-mosque, ever willfully denies the predictable, one-time facts of its given reality! On the soul-clearing retina of wide pupils, glass shards play music; a childish, hesitant voice-sigh rises and falls in despair. The hair's tactile, embodied waterfall-hair, in a self-denying, Edenic movement, is obediently smoothed into the crescents of palms. In each other's hard-earned hopes, like curious children, we keep searching, until in the well-deep of our souls, the essence may unfold!