She, spoofed in the laughter of an Arcadian angel
(loosely formed chalk ridden veins, slobbering with life)
They are mimicked snickers falsified in numbness
Echoing in a metallic cell of hurt, she can't feel now, she said

I, content in that intent, receiving, Yet
wishing myself surging in her system
Contorting her thinkings
swelling beneath her spine
brushing against frazzled nerves
in order to create that ease of living
she experiences in the moment of now

Silly saturated girl, in the attitude of spirited lapses
Direct your breath to be moistened wind in my hair
And my passion for tenderness to absolve your pain
If only I could apply such a grin- I want to be your Vicodin