artificial wind blowing on artificial lovers making artificial love beneath an artificial tree

i do believe that violet is the color of your breathing and escape is the notion of your ribcage and the right three notes in succession will melt your tender body into a pool on the hardwood floor.  there are fists and broken things sitting and staring at each other inside fleabag apartments.  the trunks of cars are sitting glumly beside a highway, waiting to wrap metal arms around something.  and you, what are you waiting for my love?  is it the quilted death dangling beneath the soft skin of the forest?  or quiet love in a wooden bedroom with white curtains billowing?  we are warped creatures, you and i, we drag our claws along the concrete and breathe our moans like sea lions, we stitch up our chests with fishing line and burn good mahogany to cook scraps of rot, it is a junkyard pile of dust that we crave, to lie upon a soiled mattress beneath cities of trash, scrape our flesh clean and wear new costumes for a day, we are not bad, we human beasts, we are just lonely and we don't know how to show it.  we just want to dream a little, without being scolded for it.