I’m no Soothsayer am just a smooth layer of Chill


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Engagement in conversation is confirmation of intellect and a combination of predicates that evoke provocation. So upon confrontation my mind takes sets and complications of audiovisual concentration. Once I discovered she spoke my language I crossed her off every list, suddenly tempted to lick the condensation off her lips. I hoped to God I wasn’t complicating or over compensating for beauty beyond contemplation. But I was hoping to collaborate on that canvas, stroke her like a candid work of art expanded into enchanted flesh and form. I’d implore her to stay so we could explore the human race and celebrate, never denigrate the bliss that we’d be in. Until we levitate to the point of elevation in attempt to compose a dictionary of skin. So while I fantasize about everything between her lips and thighs, I match her strides and my insides start to spill. I say, “I’m no soothsayer I’m just a smooth layer of chill. I’m here to inundate you with words you have already heard but in a different sequence of meaning and need. And I know of you’ve been told that you are beautiful, but I’m here to make you believe it indeed.”

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