As we sailed the fast river of Rhône
the steady sun bleached it a sparkling gold
like the treasures of Caesar’s kingdom

A curtain of fawn-silken tackle, shaded
back the fervidly garish star scatter,
and cooling flower-scented airs tickled
the senses like touching down-soft silk

"zhuang hong zhuang sheng" (Chinese)
“Put on airs’ - Peter and I are Gatsby gilded.
Why not dress - on luminous forenoons?

Pick a heart, any heart and ***** it, sharply,
with the sight of a handsome man.
I yet breathless, breathe

What weapon is sharper than libido?

I defend myself, with fashion’s sartorial sparkle.
Frankly, I was hoping for something passively ******,
you know, foment a false perception - dazzle
with fancy outwork to tip the cosmic balance

Men will witness what they believe
.
.
song for this:
Desperately Trying by Club des Belugas, Anna Luca

10p.0615

"One night, Zhuang Zhou dreamt he was a butterfly. He was a happily fluttering butterfly. It was so much fun. He could fly wherever he wanted. And he had no thought of being Zhou, but suddenly he woke up, and was startled to find that he was now Zhou. He couldn’t decide: Was he Zhou who’d dreamt he was a butterfly or a butterfly now dreaming he was Zhou? Between being Zhou and a butterfly, surely there must be some distinction. This is what we call the transformation of things."