With a lustful vantage point, step into puddle’s path,
The homebody’s anthem, gearing up for my dozenth bath.
It’s because I understand it that I don’t want to let your ends go.
We met in muddled meth smoke, reactive, puffy sense probe,
To enact the touch your breath strokes; extract the abstract of subtle innuendo.
Signing off to damaged goods, living lavish in asylum bunks.
Silence is the final language of a lasting boom, to liven us,
From the seismic cusp on the violet moon’s cyan crust.
Dying love, psilocybin. Blithe consumes. Time is up.
We go from sighs exhumed to lying too, the biting of our frightened tongues.
From lying entombed, next to you, I died and grew, like a plume you feather dusted.