An Electric Fire Around Bolts of Pie

The taste of iced tea melts away solemnly in my mouth glazing away to an aftertaste of mint and lemon.. To cloud over this dismal and weary state to call into my soul to find what fruit it is I bare.. Yes and butterflies are like some lost monarchs overseeing their kingdom of viciousness and mistrust.. Fly them so like an ornamental vision across the sky.. and somewhere across the vastness of that expanse of loneliness, despair, and in that realm of sheer darkness I hear your voice echoing like splendor and beams of light are shed down on me.. Dear true vision given the vivid and enveloping mercy on the rotting and intensely smelling soul of a sinner.. like a retortion to garlic, sweet iced tea.. Thunderbolts cease me like an electric fire running down whipped cream running away from a pie.. And inside there is spontaneous electricity surging me to come under its control. I am held there with lemon at my side to squeeze and confirm my vicious retreat. I hold her soft hands high into the ever neon rising straight into the sky. My arms then come to lay at my side like Jell-O and perceive the thoughts that have come to me to be seen. They explode with wonder and joyous ecstasy at the audible and friendly words that are surrounding me like singing trumpets and cellos all emanating from a mystical communion with a television set. I rise and lower upon the whim of thoughtful free flowing consciousness. And still the distance, and still the glows as the peak comes gently to a low.. to wake to ringing buzzers, as it is again time to go.
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