Me-eat up Fruits

His second meeting

and the first now fleeting.

Beers in hand while language discussed.

A bust– alcohol exhaled– inhaling spirit.

Lyrics for lovers prevents the salsa downwards.

Used media for connecting. Apparatus’ of the diablo

separating the streams further. Pockets filled and their gazes a-maze.

A new day and the sun sparkles. Gorgeously brave patatas in the ramblas

enhancing this time that will be passing. Ochre yellow, the tangerine

scribbles. Tapping her top nestled in her lap. The watermelon dribbles

his droplets while seeding his fruit. Pharaoh awaits to drink the truth.

In his cafe the winds blow. No sounds but the tapping on his plate. Keys

twist yet remain square. He ghosts and they’ll dare. Fruity sandwiches

revealing their squealing. The strawberries compact and fresh in their table.

Flying while writing, merging with the patatas. A crimson tomato in the sky

murdering the spies. Flies polluting the fruit in the meeting. No cries are

heard. Dios endured. Deterred from the purpose by the music playing–

the DJ plays pause and the applause draws. Flaws outside the cafe

brewed. Shrewd to when spewed and not left askew. A stew–

of fruit the owl has the clue. Spewed to the balls racked

the spoon cued. Sharpened and perfected the spoon

cradles all the fruit in this infinite ladle.

 

 

 

 

 

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