there are just so many summers to a soul

a certain sum of breaths that may be taken

and every midnight pillow's pulse

tallied well before the first one would awaken

epitaphs engraved in the four letter language

that rolls off a double twisted tongue

each accomplice to the grand expanding hoax

absurdly ancient but barely just begun

so we form among a froth of obligated suds

exquisite senses gifted yet cruelly sentience cursed

cellophane sacs fattened with life's relentless greed

carried on encoded currents only waiting to be burst

https://youtu.be/hkkjzmuEBbo