There are three pleasure substitutes.
The frayed honeymoon is first and,

second, it’s normative, blushing
with its little chant of guts and neurons.

After a honeymoon deflections accrue.
Third, there’s a genie that needs you

& sidemen
who adapt what’s spindly

talking to each other.

It dawns on me
this is taken up as a whole habit
before it’s moved onward

— it’s not utterly offhand.. rather.