There was no pause in Her climb towards our conversation

In the exchange of channeling fabric
baroque basement raven patterlillies
there are segments of upturned dangers
and rococo bad dream wheat belt sorted
cities whole grown like carnal bourbon
industrious false sponsalia and bad drama

But the markets did drain for the pain sida
comical whims of Her return from Estoril
She has no expectations like the wind bashing
against your face in your tour of dreams turncoat
stomach-turning ice-disposal micro plastic frowning
in the mind of pleasant conversation weight-heavy
there will now be our communion in saints, reeling
Her jar of the witnessing of our forgetful journeys