the interlocution of love is stamped
with objections, ridiculed in the face of a reality that nudges its nose into the fabric of time.
your mind, complacant as it is with the shape and texture of narcissistic redemption, unfurls at the first breath of blossoming. The unruly, white-bearded gentleman raises a single question in the crinkle of an eyebrow:
WHAT WOULD YOU DO TO KEEP ME FROM KILLING YOU?
(i’d live for that) he replied.
Your ventricles are atrophying.
I am recommending electroconvulsive shock therapy,
and a behavioral modification program
get with
(it.)