Alone, I listen the pearly luminescent vampire gnaw on my clavicle.
Everywhere at once, nowhere tomorrow,
right now: the bull in the red gown fidgets uncomfortably.
You look really fine in a Versace hat tangled around a lumpy goblin.
With you, together, only you were together with me before
this could work out, previously, it has before.
Let there be flying poets, like there are flying nuns,
whose wings are mechanical, thousands of iron bolts and waterfalls.
Long ago there was cause and effect –
not sure if it led to this, but the effect was finding out.
The past mutters about positivity:
the advantage of being you and I and a chewy joint.
With a little bit of thanks to Kruchenyhk's 'Mirskonta'
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