The heart is sore as 
Whitman precedes Aimé Césaire. Drink up.  
 
Rationed compliments ensue in secret and bloat under rush-formatted steam — 
(a love poem) one aroma 
— Accounting disappears like functions of context (starched procedures) — 
Love not being is taught  
But fought for in reverse. Freezing one difference.   
 
Physicalism (neural meditation) — here we wade slowly adapting to amoral schemes  
More fearless (less indiscernible) a cappella — Meow well.