Is this Beauty?

So if we mention stars and suns,
And sparkling dreams,
Painted with rainbowed shades of grey,
Will that suffice?
Will that be beauty in the sense you dreamed of?

Can rainbow screwing change the face of
I want a fuck?
Can naughty messages ever equate
To my perception, beliefs and dreams of you?
When you wake up, do you ever
Look across the pillow and
Not seeing me there,
Look to the ceiling where my feet were?
No,
That’s me, isn’t it?
It’s me that dreams I sleep with you,
Wake with you and be with you.

And you dream of riding a rainbow, maybe,
Maybe not that,
Maybe just the seven and a half inches of lust you boast,
Your manhood you boast,
My womanhood, you boast,
I boast, yet,

Tears crystallise like a glass prism in the corner of my eye.
Is this beauty?
Is this love?
Does this sound like love;
Am I faking well enough?

Oh your dreams of stardust skies,
And painting love into the very air
We breathe in, panting, lusting,
Too hot and horny,
Too corrupted,
Too lost in shame and
Ways out,
Yet how is more the way out?

I walk home in the cold,
Alone, like when I went out.
And then I ask you,
Where were you when the sky was on fire,
And you breathe, I am here.
Your arms are always waiting for that one night
Of puppetless love,
We are not puppets because we have no strings.

And is that love?
Is that the beauty someone is seeking?
Am I searching?

What does it sound like to you?

The messages are fine,
The flirting eyes and swinging hips,
And lusty tongues
And hot red lips.
I’ll toss my hair and you’ll engorge,
As I engorge my dreams,
As you engorge your desires.

And maybe that would just be easier.
Maybe more of the same would be easier,
The solution.
Are solutions soluble?
Will they go when I cry on them
Because they weren’t what they said they would be?

And you will be just what you said you would be,
That night too,
And she will be right.
All the shes will be right.
You did it for you, I hurt that other she,
She.

She.
And what she am I?

Sounds Chinese now.
Is it oriental love?
Spicy, foreign?
Is this even foreign to you anymore.
This animosity, anonymousness,
This is not new.
Not new.
Not new.

Fuck me and maybe all the problems will go.
Fuck me and maybe they’ll be worse.

Fuck me and maybe we’ll die in the moment.

Fuck me,
This is too hard.
Hard, you’re too hard,
And I’m afraid.

I’m afraid of being alone.