Hey Wakeful Predator
At night we do
the nasty in some other dimension.
Our hairs mingle briefly.
The entire café was one muddy mess
but the back had a garden ceiling
and we kept saying how much we liked the light,
how the light was just right.
It’s a little late now,
all of the books have already been packed.
There are other red sofas in this city;
it’s elementary really.
The whisper jurisdiction ends
as soon as the door opens,
wood drinks wheat.
We could have watered avocado pits,
propped up by toothpicks.
We could have found
somewhere to set the glass.
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