kooky, kooky llamas and duckies
frank ocean and kanye westy
in your car, rain pouring on our gucci
escape into your house, but feeling weird

like we're gonna do something
wrings the self and our hair of water
like our mangled garments
you play destiny 2 and i read poetry

not one hundred emoji on that chief
what we're supposed to be or do today
on our day off, write about nothing
and realize that's how it's supposed to be

Every single sentiment
you sent to them
was sediment,
evident deposits of
your oceanic scale of
intellectual love
that ran off from
the river it existed in
passing from
the predetermined pathways
of those intelligent waterways
and settling in a new sea
of salty perspectives.