My other half has been gone for forty eight of those half hours.
Half. Half. Fifty percent. Fifty per cent.
If it were fifty per cent you would most definitely turn a profit.
One dollar per hour you lose forty cents on the minute cent ratio.
I have to let the absurd out to pee like a puppy.
The dogs, the dog, the canine that I am.
I dream of chasing birds and running free of stitches in my side.
Oxygen is poison that's why we all die, yet to enjoy this life you're told to breathe deep.
Oxygen with the scent of her entangled deep breathes pure absurd into my blood stream.
I'm excited. Like a canine on the hunt, through the chase I breathe her sex.
I breathe her sex. Deep. Free of stitches in my side.
You're absurd.
You're absurd.
You're absird.
You're a bird.
Nothing holds you down tonight my love.
I can not chase such beauty in hopes of another unfulfilling meal.
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