SALT IN MY STELLA

Precision does kiss does swirl does taste with bubbled gold and sun slants abundance on glassed adjacent to poppies to raspberries to stained glass cherried corazon. My rubied my sangre my bricked hell yes. Salud each shakti engine the shadowed the shining the cherished hallucinogenic catharsis swollen 1977 Brazos ghosts screaming for salt for sugar for cerveza for mercy. Mercy is not a nest. Mercy is not an attic. Mercy is not a raft. Mercy is not here surrounded by cotton and copperheads and clouds pissing precarious. Snake trust. Slithered redemption. The toy of memory. Memorized fuck hex. Here is charmed cereal cookied calm and the storm seeks straw so much lack conceptualized capital. Come my deliberate come my liberated come my carnival come my orbed chaos twin my chosen flavor. Flavored home chocolate savored now smashed bell jar crashed bone china saucer flashed the sky en route to honey. Honeyed here honeyed mine honeyed eternal. Serpentine streets cobbled medieval but also New Orleans bloated flores with Brando bellow. Donde esta mi cielo, papi? Oh cielo. Sweetest. Here. Here. Here. This. This. Us.

 

 

EDIT by David Rainwater: I am so fucking proud of Kitten because we had just been shopping & to get her hair done & had beers in Spoons & a curry then when we got home she wrote this. I do the editing & housework & she writes & shuffles the cards. Baby is best.