"You're magical" he murmurs beneath his furls of bounding hair, his breath laced with the cooing cleanliness of a spurring romance.
I cup his face to examine his scintillating grin entrancing me to believe neither of us are human.
We are two slices of the universe haphazardly but precisely aligned.
Two flesh curled folk relishing in the moment of magic.
It's not I who espouses magic, but the amorphous entity between us.
The bridging between two worlds embedding a sliver of your entity into my universe.
Inextricably connected this little dash of magic will be buried in my flesh, a patch of milky iridescence, igniting me to seek the magic in a world riddled in havoc.

A bag of potatoes and a baseball bat.
Is merely a sack of starchy vegetables and a sculpted metal stick.
But on this blustering evening a bag of potatoes and a baseball bat meant an infinity more than that.
In this fleeting moment, I felt solidarity with the fact that life doesn't make sense.
I looked at you in your adjacent flesh ridden essence and smiled at this opportunity to connect.
The bat clashing with the pock eyed potato skin.
Our existences colliding with ebb and flow of a maniac pulsation.
This is not merely a hackneyed show of baseball bat on a bag of potatoes.
This is a boy and a girl realizing that this ever sacred moment holds more gravity than merely a bag of potatoes and a baseball bat.
It's just that we can't conjure what makes it so rich and ever splendid... so thus it must be
rich and ever splendid as the potato is launched into flight igniting the curiously enraptured mind of boy and girl witnessing baseball bat on potato

I hate to admit it, but I want to feel special.
I entomb myself in the reality of mundane dribblings but truly my heart is wrenching as it can smell the fantasy.
The thought of someone wanting to know my favorite movie and memorize it like their sacred duty.
I'm soft; a kettle brewing with pang splintered yearning.
I want the waves of people to pander to me surrendering at my feet collapsing with poised beauty whispering "you are worthy"
I want to feel special, yet I know that I am not. I am amongst the innumerable flesh ridden boats of existence buoying about in angst and desperation.
I am alone and am pleased in this pod of solace.
But a broad stroking mansuetude hand that may caress my face and help proliferate the love I hide within myself.
Well, I guess that may be nice...

Snowflakes feather down from the sky in delicate ferocity, not knowing their imminent destination, but certainty hurling towards their death.
I wince as the mass slaughter of snowflakes is gruesomely displayed on my windshield.
Amongst the blustering winds each snowflake is traced and clustered with it's own design.
But the meticulous sculpting of these snowflakes serves no purpose as they all meld together creating the sugar kissed veil of whiteness.
I trust that if I were to be a pinwheeling snowflake that your peach caressed skin would preserve me for what I am if only for a brief moment to absorb my recherche crystal formation with appreciation.

Oh dear, say it ain't so
I have tumbled once more into the Ensorcel rabbit hole.
Such beguiling charisma and perplexing dexterity wound up inside the man seated next to me.
Perhaps he has broad branching toes like a stoic Tarzan type, nesting in foliage and kissing the stars goodnight.
Or maybe, just maybe he's a beatnik poetic pulsating with the rhythm the earth has bestowed in him.
His finely aligned scruff and quaintly poised glasses may suggest his love for musical classics.
Oh treacherous day, what ever shall I do?
This man of such illusive origins glazed in nectarous morning dew.
Logistically you could precipitate more interaction to decode the cryptic fabric  fostering this bizarre attraction.
But...
Enshrining and alienating yourself from said object is the best way to circumvent its truthful product.
He is feverishly contaminated by the condition of human, fettered by the society's rubble and ruins.
Ah, no matter I say. I can jowl upon my pumpkin pie and wistfully ostracize the pestilence shreds of reality away.
Anyhow, I do much prefer the aggrandized lofty plot of land transcended from our fickle mortal hackneyed plans.
A throne of land so void of reality my fabricated man could lie beside me in all his Tarzan beatnik classical music glory.

You're thighs are like tree trunks how did they get so enormous?
Perhaps my thighs are the sponges of ancient secrets destined for some grand portent.
Maybe One day I will awake and my thunder thighs will be glazed in lightning and I can do every citizens grocery shopping in a flash dash commotion.
Or perhaps this was something I was born with, and we all know the most bosky beautiful foliage isn't supported by gingerly  meek and cowering twigs, but by Herculean genuine esteemed appendages.

I feel like a frowzy of a freak, I lounge upon a grizzled chair and only joust myself awake to
EAT
I jimmy I jam like a ******* clad scintillating ham always clamoring to find
MORE
I am a syringe of honey; I make love to destitute with campy glamour always leaving the foray smelling like
BEANS