Existence Womb (32)

   
   "Existence Womb (32)"
   
   Buck wildly, but meekly, awoke to the radiating Sun, so alive with shimmering shine, beaming down an illuminated array of glimmer upon a Catholic Werewolf made a monk no longer.  Well, he was kinda/sorta still an Urban  Monk, having had only lovingly touched Miriam through the most personal of clothing, adoring her creamy kisses with sophomoric glee.
   Miriam too stretched her virtue like an angel does its wings, feeling no sinful shame or maddening guilt, but more of a natural nature and adoring protection, though Buck was a wolf, and it was a bit of primitive protection; nevertheless, with his historical knowledge , his werewolf telepathy; plus, as the Big Cheese Moon was in alliance with him--he was really a shield of almost angelic defense.

* * * *

When love ignites--it ALL is glam;
Next, comes the flooded peaks and valleys, breaking the dam;
Regardless, staying high in the saddle, though I prefer the Natives and their adoration of bareback,
And I've eaten at the Aussie eatery dubbed OUTBACK;
Plus, Miriam thought No More of her Sleep Paralysis,
Even watching a football game featuring the Cowboys from Dallas--
Buck explaining that they were America's Team
Cause of Roger the Dodger and a cheerleader squad with a well ornamented mien.  

Existence Womb (31)

    
   "Existence Womb (31)"
   
Miriam--a square; a virgin--of course,
Never had indulged in a carnal main course;
Nevertheless, Buck was meekly gentle and oozed intimate splendor,
Not hungry for penetration, yet heavily petting till her firework-exploding surrender;
Hence, she moistly imbibed his wet mouth with French kisses,
And it was more magnanimous than Tim Leary giving up LSD to do the dishes;
Regardless, their sexual synergy and gregarious gel was transcendent--
Not breaking her virginal virtue, being controlled by a higher commandment.
Afterwards, the twosome clung like the white and gold of a yummy Twinkie--
Miriam stroking Buck's werewolf mane with her pink-painted pinkie.
It was her first session of heavy petting,
And her heart was already crafting plans for a romantic wedding,
Yet she was only seventeen; moreover, Buck was nearing two thousand years of age--
The knowledge of their quasi-merge would get Nazi-like prosecutors enraged;
Thus, she would keep it all clandestine, buried and treasured in her merry, locked heart,
Knowing:  This was a philanthropic kinda start, for her,
Like having had applied or burnt the God-Willing power of myrrh.  

Existence Womb (30)

    
   "Existence Womb (30)"
    
   Miriam and Buck were in the A-Team van.  It was a starlit night--the big neon glitter illuminating our weak perspective of the Universe and the Multiverse that lurks behind, animating, forging, crafting, designing with intelligence.  The twosome were on the topic of Spinoza's Pantheism, laughing at how all of Christ's works were metaphors, but for some reason the crucifixion was as real as dog shit turning white.  Furthermore, that this Universal Omnipotence didn't really care; regardless, maybe He has work to do, but humanity has the Celestial Hierarchy, Saints, and Catholic Werewolves, always on high alert to drag you out of the reptilian mire, that toxic quicksand more stupefying than bone magic or blood hungry vampires.
   
BUCK
People just don't give a crap--I've witnessed it since my birth during the 3rd Century, anno Domini I'm talk'n.  Look, we've been at each others' throats for many a millennia, and for what?  To be pathetic pawns.  Controlled, manipulated; plus, now the government is in on it it with their crafty high-tech toys.  Nobody listened to Reagan when he said that THEY were already among us--or looked further into the Gospels, about entertaining angels, which of course brings up the implication, that some entertain demons.  We have a Monotheistic God, but in every Monotheistic text, there is mention of the others.  Of course, there's a myriad or more than just tens of thousands of life forms, but we're too busy with Internet porn, cold six-packs, benzos, and reality television--nobody gives a load of stinking crap.  Anyway, sorry for venting, but your Dad is okay.  My telepathy is sincerely picking up on him.  He's on a bike nearing the Canadian border.  
  
MIRIAM
Thanks for sharing so much with me Buck.  Thanks for being my friend and all.
  
BUCK
I won't stop Miriam.  I won't break my oath to your father--he saved my life from some government spooks keeping me on Haldol so I wouldn't shift.  Damn anti-psychotics.  Good if haunted by demons, like a scientific exorcism; otherwise, shouldn't be used. 

MIRIAM
My Dad saved your life?
   
BUCK
Another story for another time.  We should just watch the Heavens through the Moon roof and be in awe, always having reverence for Divine Sublimity.

MIRIAM
I agree.  And after blushing; then, getting a hold of herself--she took Buck's hand lovingly.      

Existence Womb (29)

   
 
   "Existence Womb (29)"

Luke, the good doctor, though not as theologically accurate as Aquinas;
Still, his most fabulous and favorite character from PEANUTS is Linus--
There was a Pope Linus too--
Oh well, Luke was existing in a melancholy blue.
How to be camouflaged from the American Government and its illegal surveillance,
Which violates the 4th Amendment, including with corporate gadgets that entertain us?
Regardless, he would wend his way to the Great White North,
Finding a glacial city like Chief from "The Cuckoo's Nest" to find solace and warmth;
However, haunted with great concern for Miriam, and if Buck could perpetually defend
Her from an American Government tamed by aliens--even having bloodthirsty reptilian friends;
Alas, Luke laboriously worked bicycle pedals, he had "borrowed" in Nebraska,
Wishing the state was free and legal; plus, had firm, symmetrical boobs like Palin's Alaska.   

Existence Womb (28)

   
   "Existence Womb (28)"
    
   Dr. Luke, Miriam's biological father, let us call him Luke for now--he was on mercurial scatterfeet; indeed, being on the long-running lam was no easy job, but he had an innate compulsion to not be captured; next, incarcerated in the sub-culture-like underground, and tortured to a controlled acquiesce by the so-called Men in Black.  So, he had shot his mouth off--big deal; Trump does it all the time, and look how he is killing in the political polls.
   Too, in his hidden cerebral capacity, Luke knew Buck Pewter, the Catholic Werewolf, forged from the time of antiquity, protected by the Catholic Church for his violent labor in hunting down morphine-dreaming vampires, like a narcotic blood lust they had, saving the Vatican from a pre-fabricated Reformation of Biblical misinterpretation and retardation, or better yet, lack of adjusting to even a minor asceticism; anyway, he knew--the dude would protect her.
   Hence, thankfully, Luke knew Miriam would be shielded from any iniquitous reptiles by Buck, his telepathy potent enough to repel any type of mental probing; plus, dude could shift into fangs, fur, and fright, damaging the corporeal aspects of almost any creature--even fallen angels, them perpetually stuck in the shape-shifting form of a reptilian/human gel.
   So, Luke needing to contact his asshole attorney, which would cost a fortune; plus, put him on the front page of some bullshit rag and in front of the firing line known as mainstream media, held his breath, wishing he didn't scrap his cell phone, but knew--since the Bush Administration--everybody, mostly, is tracked, unless of course they're just downloading the garden-variety slop and sludge of Internet porn--all he knew was that he had to find a phone booth. 
   Sauntering cautiously through the streets of a big city in the Mid-West, he ultimately saw a payphone booth, but it was occupied by a menthol-smoking African-American making an imperative crack deal.  Good Lord--he knew crack was a necessity for some, but his daughter's quasi-Messianic Life was in danger, and he had to interrupt; thus, he knocked on the bacteria-laced door with his bare knuckles, politely asking:  "Excuse me madame, but I really need to get on the horn."
   The angry and responsive answer was:  "Who the fuck you be?  Clark Kent?  Black women hold a grudge--now get the fuck on outta here."
   Luke kept moving.    

Existence Womb (27)

   
   "Existence Womb (27)"
   
Miriam pondered her so-called, pathetic life;
Moreover, scrapyard scrapping for the labor of strife;
Nevertheless, it was all for morning glory relaxation,
Thieving the anguish by bravely entering the dreamland nation,
Facing her fears as if Emerson unchained.
Trumping the competitors with a superior, angelic fame,
By denying the regularity of school, popping out kids, suburban living--the delusion
That normality resides in an obvious conclusion,
Facing the futurity of old age and disease;
On the contrary, her mercurial potion of existence gave her a more wizardly ease;
Plus, a were-man-thingamajig as a handsome protector,
Eating reptiles, save the horned toad, like a coyote-digesting corrector--
Them having the most symmetrical scat on Terra's fine globe
Save the dung beetle, which craves a toxic-steaming load.   

Existence Womb (26)

   
   "Existence Womb (26)"
    
   Miriam wended through the illuminated day, the Sun gleaming divine, and palled around with Buck, assisting him in putting some spark plugs within a 1969 Boss 302 that he was meticulously attempting to restore to a sophisticated level of classicism, saying:  "Now some like the Big Block--they even have a quasi-astral realm known as Big Block Highway, where only a SS Chevelle 454 or Boss 429 can roll upon that asphalt ballet of thunder and rumble; however, I prefer to be mercurial outta the pocket with swift clutch and shift--this Boss 302 may not be made for ultra high speed cruising, but it will sink the fillings into your teeth running 0-60."
   Miriam smiled:  "I hear ya Buck."  And she snorted with a giggle, looking to see if he really had fangs and all, not thinking there was sublimity in such monsters of the night world; indeed, she now knew that Buck was a magnanimous soul fused into Otherworldly things, and her coyote instincts told her it was all good.
   Buck was indeed a protector.  A friend forged by her father to assist her in getting the best of reptilian slime that controlled corporations, governments, and simple people leaning towards altruistic thoughts--this picked up on by the telepathy of iniquitous creatures wanting to destroy them by twisting their family against them, or friends, crafting, as always, things asymmetrical and cruel for a hellish purpose to further make misery through lies and murder.   
   Then, through her autodidactic studies, she remembered loudly:  "Werewolves have telepathy; hence, they can't get the best of Buck.  Hell ya!" 
   Moreover, she blushed again, noticing how svelte Buck was:  "Golly."
   Buck with:  "What did you just mutter?"
   She kept on blushing . . .