It's the strangest thing…
I read the Shrub's...

Dark tones, brooding in submission,
Clarity of touch, staccato caresses...

I sip of this miso with intention,
slowly as to encourage...

I slip into the soulful recline of
black leather comfort...

Betrayed by nurturing sea,
Betrayed by fiery verdance...

I feast upon you not for
perfect countenance...

Whether diagnosed dim by glance into eye,
Revealed by an ignorant anachronistic crack...

Would it confuse you if I explained
that it’s but a matter of sense that...

Mine are layered in wet…
sticky torrid moist from the...

These mists vivisect reality,
constrain its intention...

A glimmer of eye is understandable presence;
Instead feral fire has emboldened your essence...

[Inspired upon reading Christopher Moore's...
I ponder these single words with paragraph...