Colloquial Empiricisms

We may have been something cosmic.

Your lactic acid in the way in my mouth.

Funneling down every Sunday from that one Sunday

after we first met.

You may have been lived or born in me.

Something you were afraid of.

Now force the separation.

A grand algebraic nervousness.

I may have been the same

yet unborn, unknown in you.

 

So, why would we love?

If we had to force a separation.

Create someone new to walk with us on Sunday.

Editable and re-editable.

Cannot ever think of you and I again.

The dangers.

Standing in a candy shop on a spaceship.

Or whispering kinky things to each other

in the middle of the night.

Oh, my goodness, what that lactic acid used to do.

Stop.

Stop it.

Stop.

Go away.

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