The soundwaves light up.
Yet another buckle-kneed espionage somersault.
(Their ears aren't suspenseful,
but they foresee the unseen scene, of course.)

Approach with caution, I require pharmaceuticals.

Neurological therapeutics, a compensated endorsor
of the teary-eyed kin of self-slain brethrin.
(And I'll believe it.)

My entourage dons camouflage. I don't come around much.
(I'll file my complaints at the capitol building.)
Breathe in, cleanse. Breathe out, repeat. Pretty please?

Bomb another terrorist, you terrorist.
This violent man has met his end,
he will never murder again.

Flood the senses with twenty dollar thrills.
(We can't quite make-out the movements.)
For it is the season to be polygraphed. A recluse, blanketed in shame.

Reciprocate words so futile to modern day scriptures.

She'll end it, sooner than I'd like.
Try three --
in the morning.

Let me drive her home just once more. Pretty please?

Such apotheosis,
her breath on a sullen heart. That heart, rubbed gently
against her white tanktop. Shine me up.
(My name? Not apple, thought I'll assume it your wish.)
No cached braces.

Summer, be my fever. (Pretty please?)
XOXO