Untitled #03

He's an excuse.
A pseudo-
in
tell-
ectual recluse.
Please excuse his reclusive behavior as it
excretes prof
use
ly
through the airy
juices.
Wishing around
for

She is a hymn.
Impossibly invading
our innocent
instincts.
We are lost in the taking,
sin of scents,
of inks
left on leaflets of day
dreams.

Day
break fills with
laughter and when
night falls,
he falls
a
sleep,
without a thought about him
self.
She lays her
self
down,
ful
filled.
She laughs once more
for good measure.