John Walker never intended such Brash Correlations.

oh Sweetheart, Take my Love. Choke on Animated Exhales. Spin me 'round on Uncushioned computer chairs and Fairytales. Hidden behind car seats, railroad tracks, and Veils. Sexy Sonnets Rehearsed softly off the Trail of your Tongue, Slowly spoken like Snails.

your cologne Matches the matches in your pocket Dying to Strike a Stinging in my eye. Lingering of sulfur and phosphorous Escaping steadfast for the night sky. a Stubborn Stare between the Concrete beneath our feet, and those Repeating Lyrics in my Mind. you've yet to Conceive something Scathed with that smell of Suicide, and More Willing to Assume it's a Silly Coincidence we've both shared at some point in our Lives.



Question this. Question her. Question him. Question something that isn't even a Tangible Kiss.

Kiss it and Ask,



"What's this?"