Author: I.E. quineie

POLITENESS

You are not funny and, therefore, unknowingly push an artless politeness: a combo that dries me, that self-proclaimed poetic search, an evangelical sensitivity maintained to anticipate. There is no co-existence imbued with no resistance, when nothing is deployed. You need an underscoring of something —  stop the sanctifying when I clearly need an embraced exegesis. Declare an unprecedented eclipse to anything or derive a perspective as to why I correspond to stick to this broken assimilation. We share no astuteness: the terrain does not elevate, but maybe I can read you as the funny one, supplanted by an obligatory smile that reads as no more than a fashion prefix. I exclusively take a zone to resist transposing the explicit consequence when my ambivalence, unclaimed and unconnected, remains vigilantly unmediated. 

 ASYMPTOTIC

When you use the term milestone, and you use it frequently in many contexts, I fall into a languorous state and sex becomes an impossibility, even if categorized by you as a forthcoming milestone, a milestone fuck. You smell of ambiguity and a contingent systematic pertinence that emerges eventually as a paroxysmal correlative to the overdetermined, once again. But, you do control the approximations moving to convergence, a corporeity that sleeps, composed so promised. It is a presentiment that has no adherents even when regarded inappropriately as a reconstructed authority. “Milestone” has no determinable grammar and falls in an interpretive allowance almost as bad as “size need not count,” not translatable, but a provocation within the multiplicities near an effervescent celestial station that almost hooks me, a singularity expressed, via a loose aspectual discourse, impersonally lexically retained.

KINDNESS

Presumably you don’t realize that your persistent kindness forms an ungainliness, one not appeased by any form of concertation, clearly offered as a showing of controlled disengagement from the flow, but how intent can  be pushed and re-referenced  as its own subject-focus while “kindness” rests abated, somewhat mitigated, made more consequential, refined and yet leaving appreciation of you as unreliable, an immediate act reduced to rumor or nonsensical tautological positions that have unasked for pronouncements, unanswerable as well, considering my languid blur that places an emerged obscurantism as a dissimulated clarity, a formed certainty reduced by me to a cavalier haunting that allows it to continue, this tease positing an encounter transmuted to an operational “why.” 

PANDER

Even when not here I feel you pandering for my regard. Such inconsequential recognition leaves space for sweetness which is imposed as a form of feigned tenseness that envelops irregularities astonishing me and reunites to request everything, so instilled to stumble while disengaged to delineate somehow worth that rests as stature. When I watch you imply that you believe I acquiesce to the peculiarities that you ignore as commonplace, an auxiliary assumption that perches ensuing further displacement when dereliction is set as a mess to enjoy. No alleviation, nothing corresponds to anything in your want that belongs to want, concise and dim and never stirring, but always implying and only that, lingering in its held curiosity, and if I grant and take it unqualified, self-scaled to a daubed regressive state that I trawled as an occurrence to wonder sharply and yet deferent to my question: by what flank, contiguous to what does your weathered hold rest upon me?

DIVERGENCE

Take my lies and eat them as medical intervention to your complacent predictability. I lie to control my life; you proclaim abhorrence to my life method as if in battle to an accumulated accountability. Your stumbles — weighted deferred imperial moral particulars — dry me without an instilled dispensed pretense. Your pervasive literal perspectives detour your want of my most noticed body. There is, however, a perverse preemptive hold, a form of the undefined, in the lined secessionist rigor of your immediate recourse to run from drift. As noted: my lies restore and keep a restoration policy. They spur a twist to squeeze an orchestration and include no inquisitive mix to embrace your, at most, incoherently imposed hurt as long as cohesion folds particulars presenting a supposed divergence, later recharged as a suggested “new episode,” but the continuous self-appropriation from self uncovered as an assumed anticipatory developmental affirmation to “same,” ends transcendentally to no change and yet, even you grant fastidiousness protects its own staying power as want or inability, leaving recourse hanging, preserved, not open to even insulated peeks.

INTRINSIC 

Terse and succinct: she said, “If you are not hot, you are not hot, smart or not.” There is something comprehensive, a redefinition, that notion of appraisal, an apotheosis of time contained, inherently gone, no subdivisional element: heat is there or not. Assumptions rest enabled, opened to consider, argued that the heat can come with kindness and wit, that a uniformity of truth and care can start to make you drip; of course, the analytical one wants good talk at breakfast and not outsource gentile overtures, but such does not make you feel life, the wet, the force. 

“Smart” and “original” prefigured a polemical push where nothing prevails analogous to anything as in when not specifically signified, the “copy” rests in a “that’s it” aspiration and the rejected “no one wants you, fuck one” just does not get fucked. So easy, a discourse stopped by the self-evident, but she or he who fucks for dessert demoralizes the dealers, to an unvarying rhetoric that carries precedents so marked as just that, precedents. 

RETRIBUTIVE

I have acceded that the first kiss teems with a hazsardness that rests within pucker and tongue. I have not acceded that the first kiss holds heat while unknowingly cools within its own force to dissociate itself from the second kisses’ retributive wants based on its own sexual comparative diminishment slop: an in-house job with retribution’s encased reparative ease, that prototype, punishment, encircled and positioned to hold to get for the get, a completeness, a rampant engaged essential, no exposition, nothing tangential, where the ineffable vagaries are rhetorically discounted by first kiss penchants’ sexual sequencing.

I had a scratchy awareness that kiss one sets forth kiss two as we all know how tenaciously a good immediacy jumps to precipitator carrying an admixture geared to depict that vested self-interest insurgency.The first kiss is not a form of foreplay, for if considered, and one must, as a statement of loss holding that inevitable disinterestedness that will follow to allow the refocus to the untamable retributive evasions, one recognizes simple sexual misdirection. It is a temporal math fuck problem to reconstruct one to be two and take “let’s fuck” as a disarmed “do it again.”

SHIFT

When he says, “I just don’t like him,” I am shut up sharply — no particular he — a closed deal, no context, but a seemingly frivolous postured stylistic intent, in a most minor pitch, a determined nonchalance, specifics precluded with its intact deliberateness countering any response — this brevity held in a designated exteriority that cuts expositional allowance. Even “fuck me now” provides the this and that. His sentence designates a condition remembering nothing. It is exciting how this fence gags a shift to “just” familiarity and leaves a control that stays. There are better fuckers than he and certainly others who do not provide a reason for me to favor, but his “I just don’t like him” is prescribed in functioned particulars, disjointed takes with nothing elusive, but that is not enough as my discursivity attributes nothing to nothing sustained to fuck or like or form.

CONFIDENCE

When you acknowledged that I frequently title you as one with a general complacency framed in a receding involuntary vestigial confidence that coincides with my dreary, you call outlandish, refusal to fuck you, the two dismissals remain furthered in a conceptual confusion formed by my want and heat and kink for you, obscured by the impossibly set diversified components of your insecure confinements that hold lexical admixtures evoking a dizzy imbalance to pose any self-advocation other than fuck wants.  Wanting you subverts me, cuts me, dries me, abbreviates me. Takes my heated piquancy and flips it. You shake the doubts before they are in concert with a formed allowance, but it is your means to read your doubt that sickens me and makes my sex stay wanting. I can fall on what is, but you hold perspectives on instruments that must pursue silence, calculations that distance any tested capacity, vertiginously grown to take the not there, that metaphysical quietude, reprised in missing pronouncements, an inculcated immediacy mirrored to ease your precocious doubt. 

INHERIT 

When you support me and I have my days free to fuck at will, I in an unformulated stacking give you an affixed divergence, belated misremembering components there or not, my remodeling to inherit and take, a discourse so provided, discursive to get, all simple and patterned. Accordingly, your refounded, unutterable program leaves it still misaligned, faded as not there, but do speak and mis-revise while you invariably consume alternatives to disclose what you cannot pose. You are in custody to self and I would take and promise an aggravated adherence to set edge to hear more, for so listed wets to a smile and I no redeem as it alone gets. But, I give what I give transferred as at most an image burdened with prospects to take your advertisement  — this engagement — with comprehensively familiar coordinates that I will follow, those vestiges to a prospectus, just a synopsis designed to expedite the take. You charge the misconstrued as homage to the fool family adherent to accommodate extensions to conclude as in “give me dead or alive” while I inherit more fuck time and you inherited the impossibility to digress, even rewrote the tangle in a moral manners stir, with my evaluative disgust, fuck and all.