He makes the scene… Vaseline
Sometimes conscious and packaged androgen
Perhaps he finds a kind of purity, preferring not to wait, her petals flowering too hot
Refusing her garden, betraying his home
And oiling his machine he works it… hard…
Rides himself to foam…
A magazine in the other hand betrays the airbrushed dream of perfection
A connection which demands that the soul of femininity
Supplant itself into the shеll which offers itself to the fancy
But man bеtrays himself with the seductiveness of media… distortion becomes a thrill…
Impervious, he ponders his seed of no destiny…
He half-dreams her, reams her taut, rotten body
Caught at the wrists
Helpless
Unresisting
The twisting thrusts to the rhythmic beats like the sound of a whip drowning in the waves of sensation
Abandoning himself to the abstract contact takes him closer to his senses
Further from defenses to the absolute surrender he craves
We are all slaves to a ceaseless release we reach
But will never possess
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Annette Peacock Lyrics – Real and Defined Androgens