iqmagi

Dear Friends,

Does it not beseech you at times, to reconcile the martyred sinew in exchange for the palpable kiss? Does not the luxury of this chariot mount itself in reckless abandon within the liquor of a cherry flavored tongue? Her grandeur comes to mature in the tresses of a scarlet fever, and the bane of the poor footing shall remain forever lost. Do not let your eyes fall from the starlight flashes, and the priceless currency, edified by the gnashing of her porcelain teeth. Nor, the clinical aphrodisiac of the buttoned deformities and the espoused sanctuary of a defiant grin: all segway to the paper urchins of the volatile flowers of a fragile mind. And so, to the Empress of the roaring lion, and upon the foothills of those meaner violations, I invoke the prowess of this humble letter to slow the very atom of this unrest, and with both hands, seize the Etruscan fortunes that shimmer in the salted ocean, and the mastiffs of these boorish horns that pair in solstice shadows begin at once to freeze the vaulted line, and open from the earthen vein, another door to conquer those phosphorescent eyes that dart like burning knives swimming in the murky depths that remain beyond the cognitive precepts hidden deep beneath the surface of my aching flesh.

~S~