The Memory Gospel

 

    The scent of watermelon kisses fluttering from all sides.

The candy washed aroma flexes on the mono-syllabic presuppositions that gladly float on the vapor trails of the heart.

Calm down.

Favor trails that scrape the caramelize insides of the arterial, as dizziness comes from the high.

Return not the gusto, sell the reward at an online auction, eyes open, and the smoke exhales carefully among the various ways that lead but do not deliver. 

Calm down.

The various pages of the past swirl in peripheral where we forget the basics of how our language flows especially the relationships between the letters p, and h only to be included in some long over due debate. Victors are determined by who they were in a moments time where someone elses insecurities overflow in violent kiss of fate that sometimes comes around every 15 years,

Calm Down.

The richest troll on high where they continue to remember glory in days long set over the hills where they allow the fecal twilight to roll through the past lives only to confide in themselves. Genuine wonder of conditional attributes lay on blank faces as they slum the base of the hillside. No one cares as wings fueled by angry alphabets scorch the locally skyline, and set sail on rockets destined for the imagination. Fathers are called for but fail to read the fine print in the souls concealed wardrobe only to rip through healthy ingrown skin. They laugh in bubbles, and we cry alone on CCTV where ads length increase with the view counts. 

Calm down.

The air is ripe with summer as the sips of cool air enrich our lungs. The thoughts cascade into the ether, and we walk through the guided waves of night along the pathways guided by tea lights of evening. The yesterdays are decayed, and mutes the atmosphere that funnels life. Watermelon fixtures, caramelized fractures, masks are peeling, spines are straightening.

Walk on through.