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Shoulder Blade to Distant Fade
White lilies and pampered bread, in my head I see only the aftermath hallucinations of independence dirt. Crooning as if physical agony had not the stronghold for acceptance any longer, she sways toward the dimness of dress portals. She has revealed the rain upon tin roofs, discovering a life-form inside them as one. Olden highways entice the lips of her sexuality to open inside a world where divine character disappears. Um, white lilies and pampered bread, she looks over at the dusty, narrow trailer window. Summer warmth and isolated expressions from memories of child wanderings, she detonates into them all as an angel of Christ’s muscular legs. Dim against the evolution of change, she gives into him. Perfect little shoulders arise from whispered midnight sheets; turn the head, hair as a broomstick majesty. She is home, white lily she craves and pampered bread she must create. Years of silence and ladylike labor, she is nothing more than a white lily. Perish underneath the structure of bastards abound, she will always remain the white lily! Shoulder blade to distant fade, her sex must last one more dawn of trial. Shoulder blade to distant fade; alive she was never breathing.
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