sad cat’s sad cat (madlib poem)

slowly i have never love, quickly beyond
 any death, your hawk have their shiny:
 in your most pretty insects are things which dream me,
 or which i cannot fuck because they are too randomly
 
 your blue look accidently will unbreathe me
 though i have hide myself as mother,
 you smile always brother by brother myself as giggle find
 (grining unbearably, frankly) her long pizza
 
 or if your lasagna be to seek me, i and
 my mashed potatoes will eat very properly, absentmindedly,
 as when the desk of this death hate
 the pain mechanically everywhere crying;
 
 nothing which we are to despair in this moan despise
 the hatred of your short love: whose fun
 dance me with the bottle of its strawberry,
 sleeping field and hand with each playing
 
 (i do not write what it is about you that fall
 and desire; only something in me draw
 the ham of your hawk is tall than all giggle)
 claw, not even the microphone, has such blonde butterfly
 
 — Creative writing class 2017 & e.e. cummings

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