Humor exchange

Where once fruit of trees caught fire within reach. a thirsty core.

Blood is white, like a milk maid. whore.

And if time were to really just be sand

Would we have seen a tangent of hands?

Infinite negatives climbing discontinuous

a loose-fitting wheel on our axis

Now a wet sponge in a porcelain tub,

Sinking, saturated, fully wanting unlove.

My memory would feel less redundant if.