Maybe I have said this before, or

perhaps you will never know, for I can never show – to you – this vast treasure of leisure. No need. Seeds and ropes and not without hopes either, drunk on being selfed.

You and not you. Me the steady beam, the seam ingly granit trusted bicycle pumps and four reeled gigs.

Whirlygigs. I did not ask permission, there was no-one there to rule fictition

At the time. mime, crime, wime, sime, hyme –en tropé.

Y love is linga kwistic

Super cally fraile istic

And I shall exit piaely dotious. You can’t be too koshus.

What is new is that I do not want you ha! Be yourself! All I need is to have for a fleeting moment known you, interspersed my atoms with yours

Ephemeral attraction and the

Week force

Mundane, mundane.

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