Peaches at dusk.
Lubomír Tomik
/ dedicated to You, without You I would be dead, You are my Scarlet wife /
I open my eyes,
i have a piece of paper in my own stomach and it stands on it, almost painted, in ornamental writing from the late 18th century:
She fell through space
explicit words
fast swirling around her
sighing in the lips,
astonished inaBility to pronounce them to pronounce,
shAttered by feelings
and yet she did,
she soon put her tongue on hers
tasting of darkness
peaches at dusk
and the Boundaries of light and darkness
peAches at dusk
and he counts the months and counts the days,
bow taut to burst
eye firm and cLear
dO not hope for the grace of a scarlet woman
peaches at dusk
aNd they are enhanced by the feeling of sweetness, vanity,
peaches at dusk
and the moon is underfoot,
bow stretched rainbow
she bends herself,
the beauty of a scarlet woman
baroque twilight Peaches
thEy activate pRimitive animal instincts
peaches at DUsk
and the way to you only leads this way,
the hunteR hAngs at the goddess’s waist
occupied by a BrOken spine,
the tool of a scarlet woman
peaches of twilight, light, darkness,
and the record turns and turns
peaches at dusk
and you seek the shadows of sharpened thistles,
the Bow stretches the hunter
he sends it ornAmantally across the forest,
across the heart of a scarlet woman
platinum, narrow mouth
ecstatically you
it opens
the claws of your hands,
the worried one always looks me in the eye
he tears me to pieces over and over again,
and I’m watching your pupils
flashing fantastic sos,
again, crystal clear tenderness in your service.
i close my eyes.
peaches at dusk affected by light whipping.
when you pour coffee, the hot water slips into the pop art mug
printing,
spills on the sides,
like a hand sliding down a Boy’s Ass of a jazz girL,
her twO buttons iN the collar of schroedinger’s cat,
oh
the world weather I can’t be without you,
I can not.
