Banned and lionised by drunken cactuses,
eternally sanguine in black and white, raw like the majestic sex on her ruby red deathswoman mouth, silver-coated terror in her eyes.
Mots clés black terror ruby drunken majestic sanguine
Lose myself in your blueberry eyes Magnolia, kiss your mauve lips of grapes, squeeze your fleshy, milky macaroon breasts,smell your opium breath of subconsciousness, labyrinth of desires.
Laura GentileMots clés kiss desires eyes breasts opium lips subconsciousness
There she stood, hiding; the mother without child, the voiceless woman full of anger. Her smoked nails hammered her evaporated heart snivelling in the grotty kitchen of disaster. Her face, depleted, cauterised. Her eyes wheezed shame at what she knew would happen to her daughter, again and all over again.
Laura GentileMots clés child shame mother anger disaster face
Crime scenes of pure sex, thorns on her body, blow-dry.
Laura GentileMots clés crime body thorns pure
Stretch out your tongue and let the words drip on the world like savage shooting muses, never, never to be forgotten, if once fallen on earth, they stand in glittery defloration.
Laura GentileThey can fly and they howl, they slaughter depression and headaches, they daydream like gangbanging daffodils, orchids and cherry blossoms grasping mauve toffee clouds, they breastfeed laughter.
Laura GentileMots clés laughter depression daffodils daydream fly
These hands elate my life, choke me, broil my bosom, spank me, give fire to my words, my words, mother, my heart beats in my words.
Laura GentileMots clés life words heart fire hands bosom
I believe in Aphrodite, I believe in insane thinkers, I believe in roaring free-spirits, I believe in full-throated poetry, I believe in feverish sex and moony love with all its facets.
Laura GentileMots clés love poetry sex thinkers aphrodite
Heat in her birds of prey fingertips, smoke of gilded flowers in her aureate gorging hair.
Laura GentileMots clés flowers hair heat birds smoke
The dense fog manifests ever-living gravestones, the tunes of decadence, the hearts that were doomed to dance alone. Here lies untouched beauty, a brittle dream, an unseen sea-born nightmare, an isolated acheirous harf, fishbones without flesh, a face without letters, the hypnotic power o Apollonian destruction. Ashes kiss the grapefruit essential oil skin, the soul beats with eaten sons and daughters, soaking wet serpents with cuspid tongues lollop for legendary goddesses.
Laura GentileMots clés dance decadence fog hearts doomed
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