Inside the four fences there were two bodies, 

mating and forgetting the warm endeavor.

Bedsheets reminded both of them their lost casting spells on living, 

and the infinite particles between the debonair vagina and enslaved penis were there…

just because there was no other place to dissolve and bring catastrophe. 

Two moon’s silver addicted eyes crowning for every other god-damned eyes to not search for them, 

It’s definitely finding, it’s definitely futuristic, it’s definitely the freedom…

but it’s doesn’t have to be no love, it doesn’t have to be the sex; where you spent the entire five minutes just to find a meaningful face. 

People with infuriating agenda doesn’t approve these windy nights of uncouth motel on the crossroads, 

but I like to believe people searching for no meaning and vanilla spirituality does. 

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