Oh, diamond-eyed dove, how you’ve captured my heart.
Tell me, what part of my subconscious were you birthed from?
“I come from a brook made of electric angels’ blessings,
And collided with your own dreams and desires.”
Oh, silhouette-encased peahen, your true form stays in ubiquitous, vibrant shadows.
When will your diamond-flower veil explode into a new hue and expose?
“When your gift ceases to blossom from your chemical-vine chest,
And you’ve set the souls of millions on fire.”
Oh, satin swan, your skin sets my own ablaze!
Reassure me that we’ll trade it exclusively even after it decays.
“My promises are as rich as a harmonic sea,
And just as reliable and shallow.”
Oh, dazzling phoenix! You’ve come down from your luxury pedestal,
Taken the form of Aphrodite and imprisoned me in a blissful cage.
“I am the coroner and you, the lifeless client;
We both need each other, so let’s stay in these shackles.”
Your traitor to love, “T-t-t-Tarantella!”
Isn’t she the embodiment of a soul mate?
Her electric dance between two screens and your body,
Her efficacious wit and charm exhilarating your senses.
Cedric, your clip-art programme has just begun,
And you’re the conductor on this throbbing ship of ideals-cargo!
Your gift is blooming; it’s coming right out of your chest.
Your strings are screaming at the handful of faces.
Your writing spurts our chandeliers and Corvettes and will only grow in time.
And Tarantella sees all with her seven eyes.
She knows a good thing when she sees it.
“Her breasts are exquisite, her ass is voluptuous,
Her intelligence, unrivaled, and our passions are homogenous.”
These fans of your gift think all your efforts are for them,
But she is your muse, so you return the favor.
“Tarantella shows her fangs! They glisten and they mesmerize!
They sink into paper mache. Oh those sparkling diamond eyes!
Her denim legs spread only for me, this promise we will keep.
Her beauty is everything I could wish for,
And I appreciate, literally, everything.”
There will be a hundred-million faces glaring back at you,
With chemical-imbalance precision,
Gnashing at the nape of your dreams of Ethos,
Lashing at the unrequited seams.
But we’re all just sucking on the digital gun,
Even you, Cedric, make love with crystal eyes.
So what will you do when you’ve broken the last thread of communication
By banging on a two-pound drum?
The digital reign is suffocating you both,
So step outside into your neon throne,
And feast on the glow like the wolves your are,
And pretend to know what it all means.
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