your warm lungs are 7413 words
crammed into free thimbles of loose change, as inevitable as loving you
for no reason. you keep the summer squash in winter's balloon;
where the ice speaks.
fire is our way
of life -
dying to mend fences
with barbed
wire.
no matter how soon.
it gets prior.

all that.

and nothing more would be too much.
but no worse.
an hour of outlandish joy
with all the
perks.

7413 words.
and none among them
worth
the whole  
thing

for certain.

i think.