Search for an academy where flesh can lay with the rest of flesh; let the community of fat and skin linger on bones, one as other.
There in the mound of banality will all human poison seep from our pores. My blood is your blood; my eyes see the same tangible fleece and the rest of proprieters of eyes sewn with poisoned needles.
We are trained to deceive.
Your nose, though larger than mine, still smells the same excruciating sulphur of normalness. It is only our souls and significant sensibilities that differ. Matter does not matter; we are one and the same in almost every way. But the way you think is entirely offensive to the chemical connections of my logic.
My conditionalities and comprehensions do not sleep sound at night. No. They fiercely crawl around my body as wolves to meat soon to be demolished by salts of saliva.
My conflicts are creeping spiders in the vaults of my cranium. I trap myself in a web with fragments of your glacier smile bouncing particles of piercing light on vulnerable threads.
You laugh with simple pleasures. I grimace with hardened concern. There is no rapture behind your eyes. No apology in your routine.
In essence we have no fractures to mend between us; the fault lines are weathered cracks in the sands of our time together. We need only to accept we are both the same sworn men of earth as well as opposing elements of reaction. My ache will not break you. My acidity may numb your sweetness but your flowing syrup will always remain strong in your blood. I will endeavor to compromise with savoury methodology; the kind that can only bubble to the surface thanks to your timely patience for my pedantic disillusions.
Perfumed by your opulent roses, my thorned garden will no longer show neglect. It will be coloured with new blood; the same blue blood that is both yours and mine, flowing with reckless abandon to oxygenate in clean air and once again remind me that we are as one.