i could be the one

and i could be the one to run to when it's done make figures with the sun's spots whites in the eyes licks luck para-size without sense of vision or toothbrush but a knee back swartle-fisted entrenched between lumbar and sarcral pads

and i could be the one who fits my vith inside your quance making moon faced desert arms in the sand snow like alabaster mccarthy the last

i could be nonsense at the edges of sense in the very heart of sense

i could be that sense that senses the sensual in a sense a potential too sensitive for sensing

i guess that i could not be this prison yardee trapped in this cranial shit storm missing your touch and your support and your slippers and your robe and your all oh for oh

will i be the reddening face that sets the sea apocryphal delusional insomniac

please don't please do please come please stay