when the constancy of our denouement extends the brevity of our insight
then by trade, our revelations remain on pause.
hint-riddles parlay
between actual dilemmas.. foggy as breakfast
on Venus.

simple as that.

a slow notch in a providence.
a bespoke omen, trumping
a tarot deck-
with a block party hookup
made of glad gardens
of actual touch-
where the emptiness
has no skin,
per say-

but everything
your heart desires
flays a shadow
with a wet
kiss

and **** the heathens.

ripples
in flat ponds-
are gathering ladybugs
as countermeasures
befitting-
such espionage,
at the forefront of
every facade.

a feckless
supplicant with a
tootsie roll
begging an owl
to count
a licka’ sense
as the center
of Love’s
madness.

to “...bury me with my courage!” I quote a spoon.