Moving by Déjà vu

The rain as clothing as splintered and sudden glimpse, there the glow-worms feast, the rain signals fire with its tender claws, its piercing glance. Mutable, this soluble face through glass, lunar entrance for the Chamber of Unfolding Chrysalids partitioned by vertical planes hallucinating barriers to pass through, never alone, never distinct enough, you pass through, dissolved by rumors, transparenting by candlelight.

Apothecary mannerisms raising the hereabouts for night vision, in sight of those luminous things, the undeniable luminous things. Moth, your eyes, arrival by telepathy.

The behavior of what passes through each aural tic and wing-shutter, with salivating touch, stooping to drink and predatory arousal, always, night opens bright being scenting blood flow. So alert to be evasive with tenderness and larvae spinning irresistible signs. The sleepwalker’s desire for the most secret things in the movement of articulating bodies… Scavenging for other images. To define the hidden aspects of nature.

The sun rattles the windows, the moon throwing in the desert for atmosphere. The harpy ventriloquist sends each one of your names into vectors of spectral larvae, and the spheres slowly begin to spin … see the trees rotating. Often the veilers and the unveilers configure each species of consciousness undercover and under fire. The pathological lotus, the assassin of high degree, a sense of ruthless articulation. Your hunger is a handful of whispers…

The weapon with green eyes and a silver lining stalled at the gate, the corridor with its rotunda of many archways, turning away the curious onlookers, while the women, naked except for the beacons, the pheromones filtered with salamanders and other incitements, pull consciousness out of a hat… The way you see yourself on the verge, the marvelous verge, the way you desire…

Quite often at this hour the beautiful chill of the Black Angelica stoops to release the full spectrum of secretive triangles. Quite often at this hour the Others groom her precious handrails throwing miniature swans caressing the spindles that passed easily through the windows like honey. She is parallel to the brandishing and the infrared ink of a sudden embrace.

To fuse incognito with jellyfish dreams and the sexuality of delightful contortions, the prime motors ejecting the littlest birds the winks and nods linger in the chamber paused in midair hesitations no longer dove or oracular.

Quite often desire is a candle-face when the mating season begins… There is beauty in the marmosets, in her painful bodice, in the mummy’s flowers, in the reassembly of Osiris. Fragrance followed her shadow, spreading the aurora with sipping and the heat of hunger. The sting in the mouth of night compels the scattering of unnatural eating habits, more quartzite than wax to cover the shadows that hide you. The reflections that revolve around you.

Lip-syncing through a curved view of sinister pleasures, what lacuna of phantom gestures between the optician and the oldest gargoyle in memory, turn into a dance of awkward poses. The oldest shuddering barely covers the sight glass of fashionable targets. Delirious dervishing with the peddling umbrae of longhaired salamanders spinning mythologies of sudden encounters.

The medicines of regret are the waterlilies of losing your way among candle sticks, finding the fierceness of a lunar disguise, the rapture of hydrophaning for a sundial dressed to the nines and muttering “Oohs” and “Ahs” for an antechamber of imaginary creatures. It is understood, when the lights turn on consciousness shadow-dancing in Aztec. To be expected when moving by Déjà vu.