Who cares, to be time among friends?
Give it a break, hon, be it the stubborn wood
Of my mold or the face of my force, no
Daring heroism closed in a fold or
Magical rope tense from the cold-
You'll fix the glass, raise the warmth of body, buckle your nose for the blush.
The boy who talks is a boy who cowers
In the frame of being uninvolved.
Always scream at the devotion of things before
You, let me watch you love the things before you.
Let me suffer the fatal sore throat.
Let the silence
Of a fish overcome my lung.