death valley romance soundtack

When i hear his voice, im his wife, his husband, his slave. I live and die a thousand times under
his direction and his lead. Still, I put him on repeat, though I feel bad artistically. Those 4 single songs make me feel I should be listening to the whole album- at times when escapism is necessary, maybe i could discover the secrets of his album- a secret decoder ring, directions to the hideout. Then, I become afraid of the power surge of meeting someone so intelligent and hopelessly cool. He is a man that spills out innocence from his chin, and a man that probably is always washing his intense love all over some other human being. For that matter, he is a safe fantasy lover. The distance is complete, for I am existing outside of his realm of belief. My flesh, this shell is protected from him in the most pleasing way- I can and never shall be his token, his thing, his object. Fantasy has become my vacation. The simplicity and bliss of fantasy has made me more strained when reality rules. The more that I indulge in these things, the more delicious they become to my pallet. Reality begins to be a stale representation of what my mind can create. Its not utopia up here- I just always get my way. Dancing and singing as loudly and as badly as I please, my world is mine. That is what is so addictive about the womb (home)
because I control the world with a smile and a nod from my bed. My pillows are my crown. When I crave the pillows in my hands to cover me from the noise and distress of the outside world, its instantaneous. I blot out the dark with my will and caress the skin of my imagined lovers chest until my eyes close for hours at a time.