Walk awhile with me through shush of leaves slush- our fingers creeping ivy veins connecting you and me octopi in death throes as we wrestle for the top
To see the cloudline proves the silver spoons are in our mouths canaries long filled whistle
Telegraphs of Messengers tied up in second thoughts we’re hungry and we’re burning there’s no bottom to our top
Hi go stay no hands fumbling for position when the goal is the position
Full stop


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