You are the funnel for my textuality.
My spiritual progression through thought
and fire, and ash. Wanton plates of mnemonic
conjecture. You bring to me the dawn.
And in my cup, I offer up the peace and violence
of our undeniable and confusticated verbage.
We all go down into a perdition of speech.
Yours where I met you,
beneath sheets; in the
king-sized spread of
Vowels won’t mend
won’d bend or break
the nouns they interact with.
Only the violence
and swift destructive power
of a kiss;
Could shatter those legions.