Phone call notification; monotone robot delivering its message:
your book is now available to pick up; report to the library at once, lest your order be returned, come alone, but bring your phone, never fear, I’ll meet you there, as along as the machines inside continue to ride, so will we.
A chance of escape via a rare break in a wall trapping us all in our own separate rooms, offering opportunity away from private tombs, and to each other, to which there is no better.
Once given word of flight I rush through mountains just in time to arrive at your side through the front doors of our utopic pharmacy in which we’re prescribed spiritual medication to relieve distress caused by perpetual determination, the pavilion where we practice mental meditation, forever joined by reciprocal warmth and whispered kisses.
Frantic fingers traveling at the pace of haste as we taste all that we can in the given span we’re allowed for the moment:
the present escape formula we’ve used and abused will only last temporarily, but it is enough to keep blood flowing through our veins, just the cathartic saunter required to remain sane.