Toss a kid a champagne. Tiny
buds duel in our hearts. I find you
two hundred miles away, no longer
taken. Available? I suppose. At least
as the mind wanders. And S-L-O-W,
which is the opposite of oddly. For now,
drink it. Find me some urchin of truth
and bring a few napkins. I know. Miles
is miles. But we’re speaking franchise
here, something that might last decades
and forever come between us. That’s
really okay. It’s like
we’re being looked
after by the clouds
what stung us. Wait.
That’s not exactly right.