because even immortal things diewhen touched by love.1Like a winter fingerdown a wingless2 spine.Still, Madame Butterfly,the world3 is largerbecause of the leaving.4There

It’s not worth mentioningthat in the middle of MonopolyI pulled a cherry cough drop from my pocketeven though he had declined. Tough

These hips chime like a wordy clock; I mock some god with symmetry and blackened feet. Prophet of Christ, of wet, bend

cross the isthmus in time. i’ve uncorked the bottleneck for bottomless brunch & they’ve declined  the dashing—limbs torpedoed moments prior to repose—while