(pay no mind)

this is what you're doing.

lying beneath the street light to put a dramatic emphasis on your coveted delta, which is newly shaved and prepared for a public demonstration. wrapping your feet around the gate to the neighbor's open mailbox, thrusting upward with your strong hindquarters. leaving little to the imagination and the space between the chapped pavement and your backside. stretching further now, raising the flag with your heel. the pressure leaves an impression on the ball of your foot, but you don't care. you're too occupied. you've got an objective, goddamnit. to guarantee the postage with your bloodstained ivories and wild eyes. eager to be had, eager to nourish and replenish those thirsty. shoveling fruit flies into the grumbling cake hole between your crusted lips.
dirty undergarments tangling your legs, tripping you up; rubbing your ankles raw in the midst of a faulty escape. pink skin, red skin, milky white skin. your canvas is bludgeoned and unrecognizable. as you're writhing uncontrollably, stems ravaging the fresh morning grass, arousing spurts of mist with each violent movement,
towering bedposts jut out of the holes in your head, shrinking with every dry moan that is reminiscent of a painfully dull drone. a coarse orchestra gushes from your throat as the insides of your cheeks crinkle with each shallow breath that follows.
jaws clenched, knuckles white, back arched. moist green strips between your fingers and clumps of dirt beneath their nails. the sunday morning dew succumbs to seduction, ejaculating an intense application of thick wetness to your porcelain features. relieved and fully coated, you let a wondrous sigh and begin to recite the english alphabet backwards in an unusually childish tone, clumsily throwing your clothes into a pile that you intend to gather as soon as you rise and find your footing. your toes dig into the muddy lawn and you sink with each frightened swell in that cage of a chest. your tired mouth is filled with mounds of earth. partially subdued, your tongue sloppily writes an apologetic letter to your friends and family although they'll never see the light of it. your nerves and muscles become tree trunks and your blood affords the wet lips of your kin.

isn't it?