Masterly rejects and craves and times
parading their own sentiments to whoever may desire
A little bit of of humanness and playfulness and tenderness
all that's part of a tale story gone awry.
No really handsome trues to follow.
No consumate medieval souvenirs of love's own tender bollocks.
Hooray, the time has come. To the ships! To the ships!
Rolling maidens of seashore lands regret your depart at full sail to warmer sands
and tighter flesh.
Pick up your whereabouts, for they're not here to be found, to be dealt , to be delivered
they are naught at all.
A lumbersome skeleton, a termite chagrin, an eaten torrent of hollow inner parts.
'tis the void, devoid, annoyed and destroyed
and endeared to us, as we all love a bit of shallowness
for it is the skin what's left, it's the crust of a bone
The marrow is gone, we are lost.