drinking *** allows
you fo
spots things....
the like of insects crawling
on glasss...
the oddity being:
inside a room...
     i call it a misguide
between glass and air...
    and then there's evanescne's
my immortal...
           and why i can't forge
a need for a tear...
              that sense of
a gratifying gulp of snot...
    the pass on asking being
demanded....
  like wolverine asking jane / phoenix
out on a date... but being rejected....
because she's seeing
                         cyclopse;
**** me, a woman's take on scent...
and then cleaning up cat's ****...
     well done....
   to satiate the brute...
           you have to be the brute...
and what of a need for
a callous call to make amends?
          well, merely answered by a:
                                    hush;
and that's outside the domain
            of saying growl...
     when an actual growl was neccesary;
and was, a verb, rather than a noun...
          oh the freeing feeling
                of the much adored sadness!
god, with it, i am, nowhere closer than
to you, in that i am... "claustrophobic",
yes, res locus.