a clock.
an intimate conversation.

as we lay in a mylar pony,

I dream that I am a mummified phallace, who, sleeping, dreams of a snake drawn coffin. inside of that golden horse, you laugh
The clock births a girlfriend in a purple cape and my mind casts back to the reunion
of glow worms and frogs.
the morbid parade of toxic snails
the clairvoyance