our coffee stores are dead empty

Folder: 
NOT THE NYMPH!

 

very subtly with a fashion piece

she whispered as she passed

then started laughing like a maniac

curdling these new, futuristic

instincs from their primal fusion

into something sickening, even

for me and the concrete patterns

or kaleidoscope of my destiny


now look at how she sits there,

a beautiful web of woven garden

dainty daisies in her hair

and who am I to approach

like a desperate beggar

for the chalice nectar mescaline?

 

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