Tears rolled and rolling from clouds, and after having the volume so loud, my head pounded, my head collided with the dreams and infallibility of your infidelity.
I've felt so sickening, and so rosey; I've never felt so.
I've never wanted the Music to touch me more than now,
in this seat in your car (I wish it'd carry me off)—turn the radio on, please. I'm slithering to your car radio for the wrong reasons; the thump of the bass—there's so much venereal vibration, kinetic energy, carnal desire;
(I wish to cry) at how lovely the Music might taste, at how good the quivering of the Music might feel;
if you let yourself into the melody's indulgences, the melody's quenchings. . .
Take a right at perfidy, and a left at sensitivity, keep straight
and you'll hear how Harmony really feels:
just something disclosed between you and I; something that grapples me like never before. (Maybe this is just better left unsaid.)
Strings of pearls flow from your tender pink passageways, bouncing and pitter-pattering like rain off of my* brown ceilings, off of the roof of your car, walls, and *(my) skin.
Pearls I'd wear every day around my neck, in my ears, and on my finger.
My line, "Take a right at perfidy, and a left at sensitivity, keep straight and you'll hear how Harmony really feels:" was inspired by Beyonce's line in Kitty Kat, "Make a left to compassion, keep straight and you'll see the sign right there."
Bogusified means this poem has been watered down from my very own honesty. If I were not to put any obvious signs of what this poem relates to, that is to bogusify. To make muddy, to take away the truth for the reader, for the safety of others.