Thou hovereth - petite creature, mosaically charmed, whose eschewal doth blemish my undeserving metabolism - bestrewn tugs of subordinate zeitgeist, stroked betwixt channels what-have-you, in the space of harmonies adrift before each toenail chip fallen melancholic of its delicacy. Were I to ride your audacious hamper piecemeal into forlornness, scrunched through one another’s asphyxia, wrenched of monetary contrivance, societal and palpitated, hitherto forging our tangiest pledge, lodged below hell inside tandem catafalques, I could save you, and us, from such recorded, yet necessary, dreck, and return art kind to the fields where pollen dyes thine nipple. You have made motion your masterpiece by ever walking. My love for you is the barest Christ worth denying, for by its zealotry you are cursed to objectification no longer. Yet, let it be, sweetest heart, that the very world lies divided by objects unworthy of your featherweight dandle. You are the child tallies ascend for. Do try my sinus with every clap. I am your hymen cuckolding itself with regret that money happens. Please allow me to be the sorriest kerfuffle to occur during your twenties. You stay damned in cute flavors until I smooch a town into your cathood. I shall only love you to the very skeleton. I wriggle through your phlegm outside time itself. We concoct vacancies, utopian thoroughfares we traipse alone together. Everything I have is not good enough and yours against consequence. Bang my tiniest affect against your frame, darling. Let me feed you my own bowing before the girl-tummied dawn hunts us. We can dress up our love in the encore no language needs. How I long to set up shop in your worst fluids.