Sonnet 26: A life is charged by your sweet respect. A duty so great
Occasionally you sleep, given immunity, I hope.
My thought is tottered, all naked but fair.

Dear you,

The finest knits are lacking for a good generalist’s conceit. I’m wanting words to show half a wit. I’m clueless about vertically integrated brinkmanship. Conceits in that field are deliberately made up to look made up, to look as if we need a hand skipping dinner, combing through motions and whatsoever chrome and low pressure peeled back from almost getting our tenuous, jutting fingers into and under the interstate that brings you and me home.

I don’t think driving in my mind can be boasted of by moving points but it’s so fast I’m not worried it gets easier.

Un-reproved, I love you till then.