Love is your eyeliner staining my pillow black,
is following thousands of neon glowing red hairs,
dande-lions spread all over the bed.
Love is the sin sweat dripping from the walls,
it's a tornado of windwhirl clothes blowing this world to kingdom come.
It's the majesty of your early mourning sleepy smile.
It's that insecure sense of strength,
and it's the weakness that bites our ass of.
It's red light turning green,
it's the way to compress the all night
into a speed racing hour - rush, slash, crash and cut me down to pieces.
Ethereal state of enlightment that goes into coma
after all the mess is done.
Love is having cigarette ashes inside the bathtub,
an army of bottles laid dead on the corner,
it's pancakes for breakfast and pills for headaches.
Love is what your perfume does
to my enslaved drugged senses.
Love is a frenzy.
Is dancing circumstances, spinning bottles of horny genius,
it's a bad dream of hieroglyphs written in the sky,
cheap champagne stains and death breath,
Is doing the tango barefoot over broken glass.
I could go on and on about it.
It's repercussions are as vast as the summer sky.
Beatific Drunken Foolness
