The Stars used to dance like they had scarecrow legs, now they just stand against a stone wall motionless, like Women in high heels who complain their feet hurt. The sound of Her cute little Girl voice used to sparkle in his sky, like the 4th of July, now it just echoes between his ears, silent, like sign language kids. But far from a little Girl, She always kept his stick in high gear. Her grown Woman curves were perfectly perfect for his lust for speed, so he couldn't resist pushing Her limits. Heavy on the gas, the thrill of Her Pleasure was addictive. He became a junky for Her crack, and forced to go cold turkey only made him more of a junky with no real chance of rehab, desperately feigning for Her, like straight men willing to gender bend just to get a hit. It would take Rome in reverse to de-construct his desire for Her. She's the blueprint and bricks for the construction of his paradise. But in a cold hole he rests now, isolated from Her life, he sits and wonders what crime he committed.
And as he glances at his gentle palms he sees no blood on his hands. The glove doesn't fit so he wonders, "What did I do to deserve this sentence of being disconnected?" Disconnected from a connection that made him feel electrically connected. Plump jolly Hearts once marched around his head, like toy soldiers, now they just sit in corners in a slump, like defeated veterans with no pension of attention. It's connection rejection, but how do you reconnect or can you? What are the steps of preparation for this delicious dish if the recipe was never written?