When I arrived, yes, we will taste
ruddy ages to no avail and aspire
smoke some weed.
When you arrive, yes
overflow heat from our skin
and burn the ships,
be our little revolution.
And if the run, you,
you sit at the table
and make fire,
be my mouth
the hare at noon
jara the sticky on your waist
and north through the
merganser in your chest,
party in the portal
of your lips.
more away from you, Queen
the desert.
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