i like you she says. i do.
hydroptic red in early spring, night blossoms a swale
of invisible men. perverts, scrim in the visible, blowsy
on breath as if nosey landscape loggia:
as finches we crozzled fine necks at supine
sky, a slanted fuck-gyrus, bruised after-that.
double towns & subtextual glances sort of meant hi! but
like explorers the rest is hoverish, sun-drunk, oz ellipses.
best hope is some unicorn gone gimbaled, feint, & bolus.
abstract beer. pained expressions. a muted orgasm.
i donât like you she says. too.