The wind they spawned whipped my face. I wanted it.
Everyone did. They lusted over, the vodka drenched satin.
Cerulean nails clung to smuggled smooth, calf-skin Kelly
and the music raised only spears of straw and suede,
creating, emitting the amalgam of clicks, clacks, clickitty-clacks.
It was an endless stream of dark rain, showering me liquid prisms
reflecting flickers of luminosity, where if a glimpse is met
blindness descends. Some returned, with the cackles of gold,
silver, skin iced, horrendously flagrant with the torrents of
second-hand smoke. Stomachs growled, kohl black tears flowed
on apple-cheeked blondies. Now turned crimson.
My hunched body, head down,
yearned to cease the cacophony…
I dizzied at the daunting beads grazing the chords in where sounds are
made, up to the strongest muscle, out to drip and cling to
my cherry carmex smudged lips, down on to the black, then blue,
then purple, then magenta, then green, then yellow, then black again
feet staring, consummately veined. Shatters I hear, I don’t care.
Apple juice was it? grasped taut on my hand-quilted Chanel.
Winds whip again, on the melted skin. Vision clouds,
indeterminate things collide, the black hole swallows me
teeth grinding, dipping me in its delicious spit.