Of Luxury

The LED’s were too bright now that her focus
Was definitely no longer on
The perspiring-meandering dribbling pace.
She aerially and virily backspins, wanting to do more,
The mysterious ball, apologetically bouncing it as she’s
Recalling the lovely diminishing conversation she’d
Had about frothy butterfly effects topping cappuccinos
That’re freshly, usually, made, about the what’s in love,
Birthdays and aging, or not, going to tune work ethic
When they’d fail to meet numbers of expectations,
Remembering the contact without proceeding to
Scribble it down, but at least accurately, assisting in
Permanence, some of it, the start impeding; canned
Processes of her impending hunger; to hear his voice,
To feel his unnourished heart beating wantonly
Through the fabric, instead of having you, as what was,
Just as words inside a screen.

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