What an act,
entertaining little thoughts
so filled up
with such lack of
regard
for the blood
and the lungs
the feel of a back and the taste of a tongue

How abstract
How absurd!
Haven't you heard?
There hasn't been time to
invent alchemy
tragically
Eyes are not magic
They deflate you so casually

It wouldn't be
wrong
to reject
all the scripts in your head
stomp out this love like a stale cigarette
If you would, well,
you'd be doing
good, as a matter of fact

How
abstract…