****** of Beccas *****.
My ***** mix the moistures together to make. The mixture of cocktion
Of a mist
Of dank un integrity
Crapping on the fall of shat marriage

As we bask in the dance of *****
Falling down the legs of the most beautiful of beatnik
Without knowing
It

How I've forgotten my divisions

Of the words.
I used to care of those things

Now though I am listening to howl and not in the writing criteria for my writing

I
Usually have the things I need
Now I will have a small baby head
Who knows not **** from suckle
From honey from agave
From desert

How I miss ***** in how drunk I froth in the night dry and the calm she can never know in my head how I wish to be her and for her to be me
How I wish to be one as the howl of two larynx in a bird body
Come thy voice.

Calm child soothe