frontwards (roads in detour)

the world was all strung, headed up like a toddler. my first half, at first felt like nothing absolute. then pour, oh detour felt the surge in my thighs, pulsating through my bloodstream, like a new glow, quite acute, as sure as a childhood cartoon. glowing happy. sold and bought off. no crashes. and i thought of you. we stood like detours in the stream of half minded wit. dancing, touching toes, but never fingertipped in the fancies of our trivial marriage of consonants. mouth, my sweet intention, it's only to pare down our awkward, merely a exercise, hardly hinged and misdirected disparage. i could stand and stand well in the midriff of your literary device, and take more abuse than welcomed, if only to hear the sweet thistle of your calm, weathered pragmatic emblems. i could live and die in your gaze, averted and invited, beaming like the proud womb of perfection.