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BLOODS, CRIPS, & APRN'S

BLOODS, CRIPS, & APRN'S

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He was.. fascinated; and so were many others. But he.. he was different; truly invested in the energy that screamed.. her. He stared intently, got lost in the tumble of dark brown tresses having surpassed that protruding nature of her backside and the natural frustration in such features having left one to wonder what loitered her mental with leisureliness. Emotions seemed to have always had so much power over the contortion of her face leaving others, more so, him, to read upon as the countenance flushed of all the color it once withheld. Discontent was as evident as was the attitude seeping from pores open to the submission in his masculinity; his emotional nature viciously arousing. "Florence, you awake mama?" He whispered almost inaudibly; his tone hesitant with the anxiety that encompassed his existence. The anxiety that hadn't subjected itself to fathom as the mind of another chastised its presence, curating an essence of the fact with the flesh that skin burned with anger and succumbing to the painful tingle of deprivation under the hand having swept away tumbles of those unruly locks from the coverage of her countenance. Every nerve lit aflame, essentially where those hands seemed to brush and touch with grace, leaving the burning want for them hands to linger, to ache under the circumstances of needing to feed off one's own self assurance and overwhelmingly wavering independence. Reluctant in obedience of such undying urge and despite one's better judgement she turned with hesitance to face beyond what those irises could perceived from a vulnerable standpoint, irises beyond what she could perceive, catching her off guard from what twirled and thrived behind them.

Heterochromatic lenses alighted with yet another fire from within, aflame furiously within eyes glazing over with emotion in response to the eyes so infuriating with the audacity they had to exert in the manner they proceed. Her nose flared subconsciously, the hippocampus of another taunted into overdrive as the authenticity of her words threw him for a loop; the last time he had seen this side of her was nearly four years ago, but such an interlude was far more extreme than that.. more deadly.

They told stories the mouth couldn't, spoke languages the body couldn't, and told of the future in ways science wasn't able to. Eyes; were the nonverbal exhibition of telepathy exchange, mental communication, energetic behavior and the nature of tapping into the connections humans have with the earth they torture so wholeheartedly. The overactive qualities of the mind, the fragments of the brain in communication with another in the simple engagement of obtaining knowledge, the ability to gain and lose mental capacity in the sense of it's age and consistency regarding academic usage, the state of shrinking under the influence of old age and growing in endurance of stored knowledge, reliving memories, language, and ability to emotionally exert. It was the relation from the mind to the body it controlled that left so many philosophers in search of answers, how did this small form of flesh within the skull do so damn much. It was the power of philosophy that kept the mind going, the want and the yearn to know about everything regarding the properties of humanity, to know of everything. Mystery; enigmatic. A casted energy refraining from hesitation in navigation thoroughly throughout the aura of something, more so, someone withholding such indescribable authority in delicacy, figurative shackles upon the limbs of masculinity.. and femininity.. extravasating of a pure presence of mind in every which way that seemed to lead the unconscious modus vevendi. It was perplexing to the cortex how a simple evening of expensive mental cleansing and hippocampus activity could be twisted, turned and contorted into a form of dire yearn in the sense of having hid from society and catering to another. Knee deep in silence, the clouds remained suppressed with emotions that coursed the bodies of many, each mist-like raindrop that seemed to antagonize the eyes into flinching reverberating around the room like a cymbal, yet no-one blinks or yearns to stop it. Outside there is no traffic or bird song, by now it must be midnight- the time in which today becomes tomorrow. No call by midnight means the deal was not ratified by the elders and mortals were at war again. It means that the fragile peace is over before it really had a chance to take root. It means a return to kissing loved ones goodbye in the morning and meaning it, because who knew if they'd be back by nightfall, or back at all— Avoidance had its way with the competence of the mirrored structure of flames; pursuers. Though very little had been said and done, that was nothing to halt the lingering conviction of a shared passion from tangling with the soul that once was as pure as the heart lying so lazily in shatters amidst the distance.

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