peter schwartz

entangled in various retreats
caught in our own morbid acts
of translation; we

are fragile hostages to
ourselves; fighting through
crowds of reflection

trying to reach
an embassy
Dazzling of the Splash

When the interior clenches hard she can't hear the music cry and flinches once, tightly, slow,

can't see all those red worlds, forgotten muscle and flesh, it's sticky while her nylons then soft skin in a technical sense the shadow understood

when she gasped and then gasped while her fingers grab hold of the material, oozing bleeding raspberries on smeary hidden rose, softly hold inside the bled white veils.
All around me you it squeezes, one, hard until someone's voice and there's some drool close-up the ceiling pulsing frictive rhythmic, next to some girl's labret and blurring face, the moving beat understands the raw furniture and air.

flexed ankle tattoo as a black smudge on the leaning wall is listening, a throb liberates impossibly tender meat, kohl-lined eyes closed in this scene, a forearm hides light as so many angles of closed window and soft corners, shining silver saliva mirror reflects everything is gone.

Memory-laden telepathic hand on warm flesh.

the moon and sky, unknown, black holes   

when the

I Fontana