red, read, runaway, routine rediscovered
smoke sifts silently somewhere else
we are the patters of our memory's
our thought just seem to sort themselves our
wicked are the reasons we devour each other
under the pretentense of survival love,
crawling along the sands of the glass
moving from top to bottom as if
it were designed for our space...
walking incognito through time and space
altering dimensions in our wake
underlying is what we do when we do it
not caring what is around our tables,
we are your imagination and your fantasy
like it or not, we exist for your pleasure
and for those you try to pleasure...
we are what's been in you all along.
April 3, 2025
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