The artificial state of
Mimicking a home life.
The habitat of your bed,
Sweaty cum marshland.
Something thrives on
This restless bounty above the plane,
Yet we are the only two animals on this satellite.
The self and the center.
The yolk of our daydreams,
Always subject to seasons
And bon voyage.
But otherwise,
A dual mechanism.
The formulaic non-sense
Of kissing after most sentences
with such honey sweet vernacular...
Fall 2010
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