Stop It, Smalls, You're Killin Me

Ather, a hub russet. Robotic Ema.

Euthachian dimples. Real hair

supporting nothing.

Crashing my armada into your ass.

My pandenic fever all over
your drunk touch.

Arbutus. Anisette. So divan.
Joy-sput with possible split
lip. Yours.

- - -

Prague. stupid spammers in the lobby.
Cold room, no balcony.

I'm glad we had this talk.

cockrings. Another sneeze. Holly as
an apostrophe. A decoy. A tiny system
that fits anywhere.

We walk and walk.

I want to fall in love with breakfast again.

Forget about it. What should we buy, beer?