Tuesday, February 14, 2012
I matter to weaknesses in my life,
These craters of joy are misspelt,
Like the enjoyment of a planet,
As we saw all that exists.
Let the world enjoy us at last,
Losing some of us in wars and battles,
Skirmishers must never have us,
Skirmishers must dine on their lice.
To find the geese is to find matters
Of the food and milk we eat and drink.
This fluid is milk and we are milk,
Filling our stomachs from too many cups.