When the wind takes over—me and you.
I’d plunge a tonic to drag its destruction.
Till’ your kiss hits the cloud banks to insue,
violence of graven red by my cheeks into
a vast depression of lonesome hermits—
While I’m still in need of your urgency,
The bubbles spills upon your dress.
And now, the world is a mess.

The world with pretty closed eyes.
I lifted from room to room on her thighs,
And drew to plunge our destruction to synchronize.