if I haft turnt away,

wouldst thou still audience me a thick percentage? 

or even a sliver of a warming leer?

​

where rest we then? where lay we then?

parading oxen to trample

my sorry-not-sorries.

​

oh i see.

a missed text.

so here we remain,

with thinning longings.

 

my beigey tyke yam.

your snuggly tushy axons.

happy trail planchettes.

foreskinny node.

jawlips barraging the GoPro

with sputtering snarl.