I can’t take vicissitudes. We’re staying in.
This was a no-no but we always do.
New wilderness outdoors tracing a wistful landscape, hum-vacuumed, cuddling
escalations in body movement, ledgers of age. Lucky you and I live on, fudging
abasement in clean confinement serving a purpose within
supernumerary states of being (confined). Nevertheless
gastronomy is to breaking the ice as ‘fucking / sponginess’ is to bacchanals.