Inform me that you don’t consider me, that you simply
have forgotten the wild proscenium of cloud,
how our bodies affix after which elide, the sky’s
stenography. I solely ask so that you can inform me
you haven’t forgotten the pink proscenium
of cloud, a testomony to our duplicities, the sky’s
stenography. I ask so that you can inform me once more
that you don’t consider me, all of the implications
of cloud, a testomony to my duplicities, the sky.
Every day brings new impossibilities, the actual fact
that you don’t consider me, all of the implications
of our bodies, affixing and eliding. Allow us to create
every day a brand new impossibility; truth is
I’ve forgotten the pink cloud, the way in which
our our bodies affix after which elide, is that this
duplicity? Inform me that you simply consider me
that you simply haven’t forgotten the pink cloud, the way in which
implications vanished once we practiced
duplicity, inform me that you simply consider me
when the clouds align their pink mouths
the implications vanishing once we follow
constancy, how our bodies affix after which elide
when clouds align their pink mouths and nonetheless
you don’t consider me. I solely ask for
constancy. Our bodies affix after which elide,
so quickly forgotten, every day—impossibility.
You don’t consider me. I solely ask for
that pink cloud, inform me
