cold underneath the under-the-wreath of the red pined under-mind mind of mine
shoveling the less lovely tosses of moss-less covering the beating vessel of mine
never to weather the leather-ful vestibule only ridiculed yet resting assured
caught hooked on the line between 12 and 6, making it three of us
Triangles, but angles less right and more skewed passed the undertaking of two
no more she wore for the whore was less clear as to who the two conceived
neither three, for three unto thee transpired two one
off the edge of linger-dom.