Incest. Another Love One Hundred Twenty Seven.

Incest.

                                                    

Another Love One Hundred Twenty Seven.

 

 

 

Life’s bedside story to lullaby the Capricorn.“You said you would stage a couple. I’ve counted. They are three”. “You are still counting lovers. They might be none or thirty three. Their relationship mustn’t be weaker than the economy of the ex-Eastern Bloc.  I want it to be stronger than the notorious ex-German Mark. When the love shares rise, we will sell them before it occurs. A love stock market will crash. It happens one day on friendly terms”. “Are you a love broker?” “Not only me. You are too.  After everything is over, you and I ex-shareholders will live in carefree Baden, in no love chalet”.

 

 

 

 

 

“He wrote user friendly songs,

His talent was to be loved and accepted”,

“Sometimes it is a curse”

“You mean according to the underworld,

According to the overworld,

The kingdom of the so-called,

One sip of satin blood,

One bite of misread flesh,

Angelic looks and quirky feel,

They always look impressive,

It was a love drug store under the oak,

The cocktails spiked with love were served,

Instead of getting higher,

We rolled happily in nettle,

It stung to be in love,

Like butterflies that mimicked leaves,

Pink insectarians loved mimicking the fallen,

And everything that looked undead and freaked,

In dots marked on the maps of road signs,

It’s called to be a Goth,

But in the place I mused,

It meant your heart was buried in sweet horror,

It was a girl he dreamt and sang,

She was as beautiful as sorrow,

She was as sad as darkness in your head,

Her eyes were almond-shaped,

Her curls were chocolat,

Her lips were like raped cherries,

She had something,

He borrowed from morning,

She had something,

He stole from midnight,

She had one quarter of the sun,

She drank the moon infusion,

It’s called “I am in it”,

He had the saddest way to shine,

He passed love fears on,

His girl was Ithaca for him,

He hymned Ithacan love,

She had a fluffy soul”,

“All fluffy souls may do harm,

Do you remember this?

“All fluffy souls may be dangerous,

When their fur is faux,

There are the souls made from concrete,

I’ve seen a lot of them before,

My soul was designed,

Being lighter than a curl of smoke,

It’s made from ostrich plume,

God found it in bales of straw,

I wasn’t formed of clay and ribs,

I wasn’t made from sewage,

My Maker was a real pro”.