A topless ocean, waves of this naked orchestra, my lady with a lump of water on her throat. 

Days…just to get drunk and maneuvering through the holes of a floating song. 

World gets too window shaped…and roads too shoe shaped, 

My bubbles for a love less night…cats too chilled, words reciprocating spineless orgasms. 

Sweetheart…oblivion would be filled with these blurred words and a liquescent touch of hands. 

Inspiration is for practilaties…we the carpenters of words…having sex with the celebration of this passing through. 

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