I wouldn’t change a thing about you. It would change the skipping of the record and labotomize us both…then we could share an IV bottle together, honey nectar for veinous rivers.

Path forward, through the universes, chopping with my fingers through the literal weeds. You’re a sunlit green and black meteor in a plain beige grassy field. If you drip out, I hope you are absorbed by a rock and not a sponge, preserved for the ages not the moments you would be more than capable of irradiating.

What do you think?