The xxx house

The glass pot perched atop, waits
Its splendor thirst of excited fire
Machinations of limbs circle around
Putting in elbows to leverage its tilt
Any life is met with scolding vigor.

There are xxx cups; Porcelain white
There are xxx bags; Brown flavors
The table shook, gravity prefers flat
Emotions proxied the red tin box
I’m told colors entropies in water.

Complemental softness of the short fall
Still had no eloquent way of staying
Of saying the wonderful endeavors
Hinting a warm earth respite, pouring
Wrists held a memory of sharp dullness.

xxx smells.
It always has.
I set the table, loving bitterness.
Warm exhales from the xxx goodness.

Towels on defense, diplomatic wares
It cannot dispel nor acknowledge it
The water within the transfer body
Will not quell its need of a soft hand
Layers become a gamble, fingers heed.

What then of the ornamental beauty still
Myriads of wonderful concoctions we had
Details and details were bemusements
Time’s a decor, luxury xxx withholding
My red pulse is warm, flavorful from.