Magnetic Scent

Never allow yourself to be overtaken for being overtly discrete. She is touched, that one, they whispered, in another language. A stray inkling without likeness, but overwhelming. A stray inkling without likeness, but overwhelming, like kindling and claw marks. 

Constantly deciphering between us, thought and appearance reciprocating showmanship and guile, to change and transform, from anthracite to snake charms, and tobacco pouch to bell scratch and cane pointer… You are that girl from south waters limping through the fields, a lantern wildly swinging, to sinister we go, embalmed in honey, whispering and drawn with ironic ink…

Tutelary light cutting diamonds in your variations, ascendant blood lights for a radiant language on the outskirts of embalming the very long shadows, all counting time, and strangers like campfires landing in the canyons. For undefined drapery, and sustenance, gnawing on bones. The lenses form like the finest material through ancient movements. The doorknocker of aurora in the green eyes of leopard vigilance. She offers only magnetic zones sewn in your scent…

J. Karl Bogartte