J’adore a good sense of humor, especially tar black & dry as sandpaper. Make me laugh in bone rattles.
You came upon me like a nuclear bomb the shock was radioactive. Now I’m reactive. My semantics are dithyrambic. We’re smoking Pink Lemonade, with which we can touch the sky. I’d love to see your scars pointed out, knowing no amount of bitter will smooth them out.
I know where your fear of heights dissolved
and it’s not so difficult to reconcile. Gift me your voice.
It’s dust once you realized
you had wings
We need A.I. to write our plot