All this talk through a mine
of kid gloves and landmines went underground.
You were attractive my limbs
in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs
with friends mystified, whose names like patients names.
Our clumped appetite stirs and how
when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us.
Hope in the propriety niche, you said, is count misplaced
or no expectancy at all. But I say, in my dreams I reverie,
in my dreams I do not hope.
Where were you when was I? Counting down
the decades in the service of the honour as casualty of our quondam war.
<a href=https://reelgame.ml> </a>
