Staff Editor-in-Chief Editors Zandra Ruiz Jennifer April Abraham Nick Abraham ‘Treasurer Alyssa Ezon Batya Rosenblum Lisa Mathews Devon Stein Submissions Editor Samantha Mitchell Ryan Norman Matthew Tomasello Linda Moss ay ; Basil Ahmed devours Ashwini Chidirala Lucero Calleo Alyssa Ezon otf) Ryan Norman! Faculty Advisor Lisa Mathews Lea P. Stewart Nick Abraham . . Financial Advisor Susan Romano Editor's Note ‘Acommon question about Objet: “What makes your magazine different from any of the other literary magazines on campus?"* Objet d’Art accepts submissions through a democratic process. Each semester we call for editors of widely different backgrounds: Undecideds, Math and Science majors, Business majors, and English--to name a few. Our only eriteria for our editors is to study the submissions, give us feedback, and vote. We've managed to assemble a variety of voices from the Rutgers community in our team, and that variety shows in the pieces we accept: this semester sees some new kinds of work by the student body, including poetic recipes and an inside look at the mental process of writing a poem. We look for work that speaks to us, understanding that all art and literature is a method of communication. Come talk to us. Come talk through us. We're listening. We're waiting. Paid for by Rutgers University Student Allocations Table of Contents Verbal Nick Abraham ~~ Katelyn Devine ~ =~ Kara Jarmicki ~ ~ AllanC.Lumpe ~~ Vincent Maglori ~~ =~ NickMcNamara ~~ Ilya Meylakh ~ + Kyle Mezzacappa ~~ Mary Reiter ~ Claireanne S. Rementilla v Ross Teicher ~ ~ Visual Jennifer A. Abraham: ~ ‘Alyssa Ezon ~ 8 MyraKhawar ~~ Brett Kozin. ~ ~ Ruta Mickute ~ ~ ga7AM ~~ Home ee The Veteran ~ Slow Volcano ¥ Pm FAttdsfel (Like a Child) ~ r Fall, in Love ~ ~ Juyanel ~ ~ ~ ~ Whole ~ ~ ~ ~ Learning the Anguiliform ~~ The Tree of Knowledge ~ Hollow Body (a sexist song) ~ Musings Apropos of Calculus Occupy While Sheep ~ The Six Degrees of OMG ~ ‘The Capital of the World ~ Pieces of Me ~~ The Slowest of Saturdays Massaman Curry [unaataaiw) Elegy for a Winter's Night ~ I Love Cliches ~ ee Splat = = = Mess ~~ First'Taste of Wasabi. ~ College Ave ~ ee Fall ~ = Twinkle ~ ~~ Flower ~~ = Rkmfkre ~~~ Snow 2 ~~ Eye ~ s * a t t 30 a 25 29 21 20 34 36 23 24 27 28 33 13, 19 31 16 22 au 24 29 36 CoverTlya L. Meylakh Hmm, ah... teh; neh? Ooh! Ehehe. Oh? Gah — tsk-tsk-tsk. Fshuuuuuuu, Bah..! Huh? Wha..? Whoa. ... kekekekeke! Ahaha! Ah! Ah..! Ah... eeeh. Phew. Meh, nyeh, blah. Boo ~ geh. Mmm, nyam-nyam: Uhm, ahm, ohm? Nom. Bum-ba-bum-ba-bon-bon krak! ‘Alo! ? Oh-ho? Hoi tsip tsip. Catatonic Gertrude Stein eats lemon curry? The Slowest Of Saturdays Claire Rementilla Today was the slowest of all Saturdays. It was slow in the kind of way when you wake up beside your sleeping lover in the slow-changing light of morning; slow like the wrapping of our arms and the gentle fluttering of our eyelids, Slow like small kisses that take time. We lay there, seeping ina grey afternoon. The wind pushed its way noisily behind the house— we could hear it, He and I remained bare-skinned after making love. Time spent like that feels like being at the center of gravity. Playing with fingers, with toes, noticing freckles and softer patches of skin, We swal- Jow all time and slowly wind each other up. I couldn’t remember the last time I enjoyed the sweet slowness of a Saturday afternoon in bed with a lover. In fact, it probably was the first time. College Ave. Alyssa EzonJuvanel Allan C. Lumpe //‘The name of the poem comes from a beautiful git] who came to the pharmacy and didn’t speak English. Tthink it was pronounced (Hoo-vah-nell) although she smirked when I tried to say it. She had to wait for an hour and we kept smiling at each other every time we made eye contact. (Il be man enough to admit that I probably blushed.) It was love at first sight; and though there would've been some communication issues, [believe there are things far more important than talking. (90% of communication is nonverbal.) L hhadn’t given this masterpiece a name yet, so I figured that her's would be fitting, No matter how you pronounce Juvanel, its pretty, and it's very suitable for a beautiful and mysterious dancing woman. Also I think it would be cool if there were flutes playing in the background or something, so imagine that. A west wind blew in from the sea, //west wind means favorable change in mythology As she lithely danced on the shore, ‘And in the cove a light was seen, Of ghostly moonbeams shimmering. //is she a ghost? Her heart swelled with joyous outpour; Of falling rain and flowing stream, Of all that lived and what could be, //love of everything alive/ beauty of nature And roamed the earth untroubling. And there he came out from the night, //juxtaposed sorrow/joy Lost and carrying weary heart; He stumbled on an empty shore, //1 ike oceans. And wind. Nighttime too. And walked alone and sorrowing. He willed his soul from shackles part, //How I imagine any man should feel if a loved one is lost ‘To forget the pain he yet bore, And leave the ground in lofty flight; Escape the world unsuffering. But then he canght a glint of light, ‘And saw in wonder flowing hair, That moved to music still unheard, With casted starlight glimmering. //everything I write has starlight in it For there she danced without a care, Swaying softly gazing skyward, //and of course there's always fascination with the cosmos With a gown of silk woven white And eyes like diamonds glistening. Hard was the tale that fate had wove, //a story that would make a good book Yet the song healed his shattered soul; and ends ambiguously with this poem He felt heat of mantle rising, ‘That in his heart lay bubbling, //trying to express the feeling of love here, which isn't easy to put And let it seize his body whole. //especially for a black hearted bastard like me into words ‘Though he longed to rejoice and sing, And join her dancing in the cove, He stood yet silent quavering. But then she turned and saw him there, And as she looked into his eyes, //the eyes always say everything. Her lips parted to speak his name; //choose any name that’s badass and manly And there he waited listening, Recalling that which never dies; //love? She whispered to him and he came; //oh god, that sounds horrible, not meant to be inappropriate. He reached out to caress her hair, //why hair? No idea. And hold her once more unsorrowing. //apparently “unsorrowing” is not a word. Fuck that, itis now. //So leave it open to interpretation; is it supposed to be real, or is it just a dream or hallucination? FRA TEU (Like a Child) Kara Jarmicki I wonder if Tl catch your eye like a child catches fireflies and holds them captive in a jar; will I light up your gaze from afar? Splat Jennifer A. AbrahamWhole Vincent Maglori When you see an empty cup you don’t wonder how it emptied and who, or if it ever began full, but if you see a broken cup, of course you wonder how. Ifa cup is chiseled methodically into jagged pieces call it sculpted, not broken, and with that kind of purpose in it, you may as well call it “whole.” Tt can tell you everything down to the particulars, once world’s greatest mom, teacher, whatever. But it has no authority to speak of breaking. Don’t give me a meticulously fashioned history, don’t give me a list of qualifications, let me be the result of accidents and true evidence of wear and living. Flower When I meet my maker let him be Jean (or maybe Hans) Arp (if it’s up to anyone it’s up to Him). Myra Khawar And let them all note that Thad sat down on uncomfortable steel mesh chairs at unwholesome steel mesh tables outside of cafes on days it had rained and later stood up with my pants wet and that I was neither cautious nor embarrassed at the time.Home Foot Katelyn Devine Ruta Mickute ‘My mother has said she never slept a night as well as in her father’s house when she was young. She leaves the porch light on smoldering electric bills off my fathers freckled back, so it is bright when I come home. Every soul in the house sleeps when I open the front door unlocked, because it’s fine, The scent of this house, creeps through my spine when i'm feeling alittle shaky. This craft of my father’s hands and his gemini mind is as unpredictable as his clenched smile. Nearly twenty-one and someday this home will be my parents house. Every sleeping soul will find away out.Claire Rementilla Food 1 Massaman Curry (unsfasu) in September: An Introduction & Recipe Claire Rementilla My mother was born on the island of Coron, a mere freckle nestled within the larger island of Palawan off the west coast of the Philippine Islands. Dirt roads, pungent fruit trees, and the Chinese sea. This was the life she and her siblings lived. At the age of twenty, she left home to pursue an education and moved to the capital, Manila. She found a small but cozy apartment complex, the same one my father lived in (in fact, the landlord was my grandmother!) and it was there, in her tiny kitchen, where her passion for cooking rose right out of the simmering pot of food itself. Why am I telling you all this? Because in the time between then and now, my mother traversed the globe in the name of love, and then I was born. Today, there exists something extraordinary within me. A blossoming desire passed on to me from my mother, perhaps like a spirit that has emerged from the food and has inhabited me. It inspires my sense of taste, brightening my sensory world with golden curries and red pepper; the joys of the bright orange carrot and the sweet purple of the beet and the succulent scent of strawberries. I find it in the ridges of the cumin seed and threaded with saffron, in the scent of rose water and in perfumed orange peels. Behold: my savorous chemistry! May your tongue guide you through, May your eyes capture these colors and your nose, to smell and remember the feel of the vegetables in your hand: Then swallow only happiness. ‘Massaman Curry (wn-aa'aalw) _3 Tablespoons of MAESRI's Massaman Curry Paste (purchasable from any Asian/In- dian food market) _3 Tablespoons of legit curry powder (Curry powder from ShopRite is NOT legit. I mean, legit curry powder from an Indian foodstore! THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING.) _1-2 bouillon eubes of your choice (I prefer imitation chicken bouillon! mmm) _2 Cans of Coconut milk/cream (DO NOT SHAKE THEM!) ~Your choice of meat, sliced into bite-sized pieces —3 Potatoes (of your choice, Yukon gold is delicious with this) giantly cubed _2 Large carrots, also giantly cubed! _1 medium-large white onion, cut into sauteeable slices _4 cloves of garlic (or more! I love garlic!) _A dab of oyster sauce for flavor (optional!) _1 Can of cooked Chick peas or sweet peas, to be added last. _Salt & Pepper _Perhaps a packet of GOYA seasoning? _Sprinkles of crushed red pepper flakes _Some cooking oil! I like using Avocado Oil or Coconut oil Crushed peanuts for garnish!DIRECTIONS: __Heat up a bit of coconut oil in a large wok-type pan (must have sides!! If’m making a Food 2 whole lot, ill use a giant pot.) _When the oil is hot, pour in just a liiiittle bit of the coconut cream and then the Massaman curry paste. Claire Rementilla _ Stir-fry that mixture until it is red hot and liquidy. Medium-high heat! _After a few minutes (or after your meat is mostly cooked), throw in all the sliced onion. “After a few seconds, add the finely chopped garlic. _Pour half of the can of coconut milk in, leaving some in the can. I'll tell you why in a second. “Ina microwavable bowl (or mug) break up the bouillon cube(s) into the small quantity of coconut milk _Add the extra legit curry powder (and more if you want!) into the bowl or mug, a little water and microwave that until it all melts and mixes. _Keep on stirring what's in the pot!! Add the microwaved, salty curry mixture, It should be a mixture of bright reds and orange. Mm. _Open up the second can of coconut milk, and throw that in there too. _ BOIL IT! (still medium-high heat!) _Now, at this point I like to look at the color of this milky mixture. “ifit is a pale yellow/orange, I would throw in that GOYA seasoning pack. It will turn the color of your curry into a beautiful orange! _TASTE IT! I let my tongue do all the work, so taste it and see if it needs more curry powder or massaman paste! If it does, repeat the action of microwaving some of the coconut milk with curry powder or another bouillon cube for more savoriness! Mmmm. _After you've got your boiling pot to taste just how you want it to, add the big and chunky cubes of potatoes and carrots! You can even try cutting up some pumpkin or sweet potato too! Depending on how saucy you want it, feel free to add more cubed potatoes or carrots. I personally love a saucy curry. _ Mic it all up and stir, stir stir! If it still needs a bit of flavor, go for the two second oyster sauce pour. Obviously we need to soften these gourdy veggies, so I'll typically leave it on a medium flame for maybe 8 minutes, prodding them with a knife or fork every so often, to see if they had softened! _With these all these vegetables swimming in coconut cream and spices, it should be pretty thick, unless you used coconut milk/water. Either consistency is fine. It’s the taste that mat- ters! _Lower the flame to low-medium low and stir occasionally. _Leave it cooking for at least another 10-15 minutes. _Somewhere in the middle of this, throw in the can of chick peas or peas. It won’t hurt. “Ifyou do throw in the impulsive peas, let it cook for just another few minutes! “And you're finished! Deliciously savory Massaman Curry! And you didn't need to trek all the way out to your favorite Thai restaurant to get this! I haven't done it, but sprinkling some peanuts on top of your curry will make it taste even more fantastic, Trust me. Get a bowl. Put hot rice into it. Pour the curry aaalll over the top. Breathe it in. Take a spoonful and be happy.Red Trees Claire S. Rementilla Elegy for Winter’s Night the wind howls. my fingers turn the pages of this elegy Tcould not help but wonder how this night could seep so easily into my bones I forgot to mention the stretch of night spent inside my car when you said “Leave.” my shoelaces left untied because T could not see past my own eyes Iran. it was the time of year when the naked world greeted me at the front door my flesh was stripped from my bones Thid inside my ear and turned the battery on the clock had told me “nine fifteen” and i refused. Claire Rementilla soicried into the hollow of my car {swallowed my teeth and hair I screamed! my face melted into my palms the blackness on my hands the clock had told me “nine fifteen—” No! screamed, how could it be? why has time stopped for me? Iwatched his front door open running to find me again and again and again I watched his front door open and only shadows scattered. i melted into the palms of my hands. the trees stripped were already bare and knew just how easily the cold could seep into my bones.Learning the Anguiliform Nick McNamara Because poetry is really just analyzing eels, Iwill try to describe The practice of writing poems, and Waiting. Iwill try to describe Keeping your hands in deep water, Waiting For the eels. Keeping your hands in deep water, You will learn that, For the eels, The few seconds in which they're held are timeless. You will learn that The practice of writing poems and The few seconds in which they're held are timeless, Because poetry is really just analyzing eels. Fall, In Love Kara Jarmicki What a sight it is, the green foliage blushing red, poised to plummet and yearning to kiss the ground beneath, to embrace the earth who wished for autumn on summer dandelions, and their dust scattered along, the same wind of a different season whose gusts now shake nature free to fall in love, for all to see. But how lonely are the trees with no one to keep them company, no one to warm their naked branches but the prospect of a spring fling. Alyssa EzonThe First Taste of Wasabi Jennifer A. Abraham Musings Apropos of Calculus Tlya L. Meylakh Oh, whose empathy may be unbounded along the path I chose to travel constantly in loop resistance (an idyllic symbolism) of the living autumn (still another) ? He of whose empathy I could derive a partial fraction to be saved, of which then by extrapolation my energy potential kineticized integrating my sensations toan area of summed good sense... Such a one as in my sights has yet to travel parallel, remains thus merely in my visions’ slumber-sands a parting shadow, partitioned into myriad. As time regained so rarely passes hourglasses lack the right. In stead of those maligned devices cherry blossoms play my part, spiraling in floats aflutter counting down the waves of distance passed in time and still ... tO pass away.Occupy While Sheep Kyle Mezzacappa too smart to follow too dumb to lead; sitting idly tweedle-dum, tweedle-dee another brick in the street another wall in the way afraid to advance reluctant to stay stuttering, stuck in indecision between blaming luck or poor supervision a wavering stance a faltering mission muddled together through weather conditions and then BANG! it’s over. what's there to say: Twinkle Alyssa Ezon The Veteran Katelyn Devine We escaped the wet, wet sky to abscond to the watering hole. Found a roof to smell its roots and history found one another. He was breaking your mind, and the back of your barstool, bending the image of how that green appeared before. Budding images of bedded nights flew around our held hands, as I read “Free Omelet Tuesdays” and watched the taps flow, while you heard of places unseen. ‘The drenched mind spoke from someplace exotic and not free. You looked in an accelerated mirror, rough like the corners of your conscience bellowing over and over through lines and lines and lines of men again.Why So Serious? Mary Reiter Six Degrees of OMG Kyle Mezzacappa 1. Enthused. “Jol I just saw chris from middle school. he works at the starbucks in my town!” “OMGIno way!” 2. Excited. “Guess what? You're ninety-two point three’s nine hundred and twenty-third caller- You just won free tickets to go see Modest Mouse in New Mexico!” “Oh my God!!!!!No w: 3. Unexpected. “Remember Becky? So- she got married to Tim Horowitz, right, and Lisa got married to Tim Bradley. You know how they've always been perfect for each other, right? Well, recently- and Becky JUST told me this- Tim asked Becky if she had ever cheated on him(because they were talking about how other people have cheated on each other and how they just get over it any- way)And Becky says to Tim when he asks her about it, word for word, “Tim is the only man I've made love to during our relationship.” And so he smiles, thinking Becky's being all cute- BUT BECKY WAS REALLY CHEATING ON HER HUSBAND TIM WITH LISA’S HUSBAND TIM!” “OH MY GOD!!! NO FREAKIN’ WAY!!!!!!!" 4. Epiphany, “What if air is actually poisonous, and it just takes eighty years to kill us?” “Ooooohhhhhhmmmyyyyyygeggoodddddd...” 5. Exasperation. “You know how you just told that guy off, even though he was being pretty nice and consider- ate? Once, at this same bar, a girl told a guy off who sounded like he was just being nice. Three weeks later, she was found dead in the Mojavi desert shackled to an old rusted bedirame. When investigators found her, she had no eyelids, scorpions climbing in and out of her skull, and a gridiron pattern burnt onto her back from lying on the searing hot bedframe for so long. The culprit was never found.” “Oh my God.” 6. Excretion. There is literally a boulder racing towards you. “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GGGGGOOODDDDDDDDDD!The Capital of the World Kyle Mezzacappa It takes one shot Two to tango, Yet good things come in threes Fortune’s best when shared with others- Don’t the patrons agree? Give me all you got- If you've got nothing you've got no responsibi Ican handle it And panhandle it Because I'm full of greed I work best with others When they all work for me We can be like- two birds of a feather If you loan your wings to me Why do I build to serape the sky? Well, I could never fly My rooftops will kiss the heavens So I can go there when I die Money, money It makes the world go round So keep maxing out your credit cards To keep the equation sound Time is money ‘You know what happens when it stops? Dreamers lose direction and The workers lose their jobs Think you can beat the system, huh? Well tell me if it bleeds And I'll tell you when girls learn the truth If they still wear diamond rings Pleasure comes from pain If not here then somewhere else How could we ever gauge who rose If not by those who fell? Slow Volcano Katelyn Devine Rkmfkre Let the slow volcano burst and flow. Ithas been too long since you last left yourself, Floating around this flame, flickering from the toe tips up, Letting this shake your smooth spine. Shifting in places and showing spatial graces, You can feel bubbling anxiety in your calm palm. Smoke spirals blur your idealess idealism. While you gallop through quiet moments, stomping on mornings with active feet, and grease coats the tips of your forehead hairs. Drift like the hot tide, and then recede to that strange place where all that matters are levels of space and tastes and his insides, and what happens underneath him. Myra Khawar“3:47 AM” Nick Abraham ‘Musings on an incomprehensible dream Oris it incomparable? Destiny that is undefined But maybe already realized Who am I to say? Who am I to live? Luxuriously Miserably Right Warped Innocent Jaded Allat once Who am I? To dream a dream Of ordered chaos Everything yet nothing People and progress ‘A growing heart of darkness By God's graces Who am I? To waste time On fruitless passions Unfulfilled whimsies Virtual hours Affected naiveté Who am I? ‘That can sleep ‘That can eat and drink Without his own work But of whom much is expected In no time at all Who am I? That I hold no desire Other than use Of some unseen talent Who? Who? Who? Amt... 4:07 20 minutes wasted? We'll see. I don’t know where Tam. hard to breathe can barely see through the haze The walls are closing in. just pressure endless stress mounting up The ground beneath gives out. falling down hit the floor Lawake. Eyes open. “Colloquium” An endless task Drawn on and on To listen to Such tedium Unbearable Repetition Laid before me Yet I can’t bear This anymore But I have to Thave to try To carry on I Love Clichés Ross Teicher ‘They say that every dog has his day, And I feel that clichés are the same way. No I haven't faced death and I’ve never been to court, But I'd like this poem to serve as an English PSA of sorts. When I think about clichés I get all fuzzy and warm But then realize that there is, indeed, and impending storm. 1 feel down in the dumps, so sad and blue, Having realized some people think these phrases are overused. If life is like a rollercoaster and love is blind, Why can’t we go for a whirl and give clichés a try? Yes some people think they're boring, and as dry as a bone, But they're so clever and fun and wildly well known. Td give an arm and a leg if you could just heed these words And don’t think that this message is just for the birds! Now this poem still connects to my emotions you see, Because these clichés, well, they complete me. So before I go and bid you adieu, I'd like to quickly give you a few Of the lessons I've learned from over the years, From parents, teachers, and even my peers. Doas I say not as I do and don’t throw clichés in the can, They are meant to be used and embraced, even though I am not a fan.Converse-ation Mary Reiter Pieces of Me Mary Reiter A little blue Pieces of happiness Kept in a small clear bottle ‘They call my name ‘That has not changed Has stayed the same though Thave not They take away my emotions Changing how I think A little more blue, a little pink Pieces of confusion Kept in a small clear bottle Thold them in My cold scarred hand Coating wrapped around Staring at my face in Their home’s smooth surface My unchanged face A little more blue, no more pink Pieces of sanity Kept in a small clear bottle Asking myself who Treally am With these little pieces Are they me? Or am I still buried Somewhere deep within A little blue, a little white Pieces of control Kept in a small clear bottle Helping or hurting ‘They are still there Silent and still Ipress, spin, pull, tilt Now cool against warm Close my eyes and swallowThe Tree of Knowledge There is no eye where my ribs meet. But there is white there: Bone and hair. I studied with wise-mouth, ear-snake, Hippocratic walking-stick walker, I bandage myself with my arms, Teauterize with 9:00 shower water, And am my own father. Michael and I speak little, and When I whittle, 1 do so with serrations in my brain. Learning to move objects with your mind Requires grey-skies, and a not too wise heart, And an over-eroticism with language and thought, And apart from watered-eyes, This skill leaves scrunches, Crunching sweating skin, Or the toilet-paper forehead. Nick McNamura The most I can move are mountains, Awoman I know, and snow; I sweat each into water, And they need only run down streets, ‘And meet the gravity in my heart, ‘Which pulls down strong like rapists Or weights or the world; All the hatreds I hate and the pains I pine For in my spine which I can't crack, Which is wise and wood-like, Dead-tree haggish and snaking, With roots in collision with bone and pain And yesterday, when she'll say: “I do not know.” There is a real ocean, and real salt in it, Which you can collect with sunlight and bowls, And your arms can take fistfuls of the water, And pound and rage away and get nowhere, But be carried up and down Like a woman on a cock. Tam the girl that has straddled the world. ‘The sea beneath me, Is deep as a confused metaphor, A bull wild with the red cloth of longing, Union; two; confusion of skin and who's who; The waves and the sky were the same at the line, And I looked out from the end of dry land, Where an edge was, And Jumped. Birds fly but are frenetic; I try to feed them feed, And they hop and skit, And none are calm; (Don't we long to fly so we can be light?) Birds have the same Jewish neuroses that my mother gave me. And, like a Jew, I don’t eat them, Because a Jew to eat a Jew, And meat in milk is sin, Asis union, Asis trying so hard to keep water in My fingers, Asis love; Hebrew is hard. Snakes are supple like Skin, and soft, And very much grounded, And all together not like birds. Part of me believes My girl is a snake, And Lama bird, Clipped, In each sense of the words; I moved a mountain today. To sing from your chest is an exercise In reaching upwards with fingers, And trying to pull deeper around you A bald, slithering lover, By her hair. She will not come, And all you want is her deeper, Vein-filling, Inyou, ‘And with you. Not all snakes are poison, Some are wise, Each has many skins it wears, But none has hair; And god says snakes tell lies.Shows Hollow Body(a sexist song) Nick McNamara Katelyn Devine She's a moaner. Women look good with six of a thing, Wearing six silver strings or six silver rings; Hollow-body’s body’s so warm and smooth, there’s “koa-wood-mamma’ in the way she grooves. She's wailing and wailing I'm hammering, hammering, And she’s stammering, And her sound hole’s vibrating, wet. Tthink I got my sweat on her neck. ‘There's Delta Blues in the way my woman moves, It's cool in her tips, like the ocean's blue, and Hollow-body’s body's gonna wail away, because I'm hittin her hard till the break of day. She’s mumbling deep, My fingers’ pushin up, ‘And now she screams, And wakes the neighbors up. My starfire lover with a neck so white, My starfire lover lovin’ me each night, Body hollowed-out from my picking away, Hollow-body given love every day. There’s blood on my fingers, There’s rings on the floor, Wail away woman till you wail no more, I'm gonna have you And use you And play without shame; Cause mamma you're a hollow-body, It’s just the way you're made.Send Submissions To Objetmag@gmail.com ads “jews mSeunalqo OL suorsstuqng puag Send Submissions To Objetmag@gmail.com Send Submissions To Objetmag@gmail.com Woo ]1RUZ@Seuyalqo OJ, SUOISsIUqng puag Send Submissions To Objetmag@gmail.com Woo [ews @seunelqo OL suolssturqng puag Send Submissions To Send Submissions To Objetmag@gmail.com Objetmag@gmail.com Woo [eUIs@seunalqo OL, SUOIssIUIqng puag