my lust for love

you. you're modest with your curves/ with your skin done

button/ that's the way to tell a story

I. on other paths/ in the land beyond the qaf mountain and I

lips closed

the one above with the one above

I'm looking for the same thing

you talk about curls smiling like

a thousand children/ the palms stand outstretched

on the paper time plays barbour

on their heads photos of salty bodies

with the happy ribs of guests

like calcium beams laid obliquely we measure ourselves

standing then the glass of cabernet how many times I asked you

to stop feeling me up through the old-fashioned dioptres.

♪ how so how ♪

I'll never be/ strung out in all the music

mundane sitting on my elbows my hair pinned to

the back of a woman's head with you all wrapped up

in a thousand

forbidden palms

I want you like an Andalusian feeling

my brown hair's best friend to give me

my drawers back like he did

dali with venus even if I'm not from milo and

I still want the dream

caused by the slips/ of the shush around

lobe before the awakening.

we. glimpse cheap glimmers and

palladine sitting in console over

glasvanders wearing your shirt and my lust.