Our love is bundled like stretched filters. A space heater with temporary merit.
Stitching currents, the wires connect. My amplifier is unsightly suitable and buzzing. Alternating with each slide. The numbers liquify until all are positive. Ear canals that lead to plenty will someday go deaf. How fragile is sound?
What smell would you see if you could hear it?
I love your hand when it fits in mine.
My swinging face knows only contact.
Watch as we all measure, equal stability with mechanical craft. Drunk with devils. Have we become craven and callous? These healthy devices, well they've marked the masses.
JP
2009
"The only gift is a portion of thyself. "
--Ralph Waldo Emerson
