after Crooked Little Flower
Find me dreaming in echoes*,
indigo nostalgia, imprints of
rivers of fire and sparking rain, a
eutrophic, suicidal dragon —
recall the holy days when we’d f#%k
again, again, again, until your
germ conjoined with mine in a lucid
ecstasy that shattered all our dreams —
be who you must be most vitally;
understand our ways, both old and new;
necessity overrules the dream.
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