:It Was My Fault:

In swarms they rush:
Buzz. Buzz.
Zooming in
Imaginal cyclic offenses.

How did they get in?

But they create loamy ideas,
Fancying themselves
To complimentary wineries.

Placing a burgundy glass
To ripen:
Plotting a massacre:
Wine-logged fruit flies
Stick to clinking walls.

-Sabs-

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