ripe limed watermelon ***** wear light stricken sun stripes for an absent bottom without oxygen but inside infused with pink ecstasy that births the belly of many seeds see, these decoys in our sight seem willing but they were alright just sitting on cross-legged coils in sun beams what the acid stains left when they came as spoiled decay: a spot of impiety where veins were torn off from a she-deity and the gyroscopic fruit before being eaten was already gone
a smoldering battle collects dust and fame. it is the fruits of our labor contained, won fervently and dually lost, once picked, as a zonal separation of the memory