His to act on her prone back
with a rope attached to circumvent that.
Because who knew there was always a way out?
Another definite reason to second question double doubt.
I've had enough to fill my quota with or without squared facts.
Cubed into four dimensions to contain the bouncing reflected stream of light that cuts through every fine line drawn by pinpoint pens.
The ink is solid but the tips's worn thin.
I'm about to dive right in,
with seven limbs minus two and a half.
Crack the sphere that's not welcome here with a hammer and a tack.
I've circulated every memo.
Can you remember that every word read gets retained in that blank black back space that hides beneath every keyboard key?
Wait, scratch that.
Hit delete.