some part of the lingering thing

it's funny. my eyes don't work right these days, keep seeing the wrong things & improper ways around & out of this. bootstrap & tally. i've got an allergy, babe, o maybe it's not to you. maybe it's just the air around you. slow, slow, slovenly fall right behind the winter of our quick comforter. where? o just over around there there's a sweater with a letter & a packet of matches. keying loudly into this, derms to the wrist of this / fell behind we trip and catch our jaws on this. no honey without pain, o sweet &decay. a perfect thing & a loosened temple; our revelries left him not the only blind & we slip behind and around the back. there's a cab.

you're a bit of a cad some nights. i think that i'm definitely a cad most nights & evenings, too, but that doesn't justify you any, either. swing low, my lovely radioflyer: got some broken wheels & no steering down this swift axis but you don't talk back anymore so i guess you've got it now, yes? you've caught it & am swayed by my cuffsy accusation. there really isn't anything we can do, ma'am. no, i'm sorry, but it's likely terminal. some coffee to sharpen the points, ma'am? well, we can just hook you on up to an iv because shit, woman, you're gonna need it & 'sides you haven't seemed to have a mouth in some weeks left to look with.