Please stop. I got sick off the cotton candy at the county fair I went to with the tickets you sent me. Let’s face the golden clothed trumpeters; you’re not going to win me over like this. I am tired of being angry. Not lions nor zebras nor cobras nor mongooses. No soda fountains. I can’t touch your new jacket—don’t mail it.
I have been in touch with an old lover. He has propositioned me. I don’t have an apology, he said. He said, I would have moved to Iowa with you if I had known about the tornados. He is driving a motorbike here posthaste. He said, Sidecar, tomato, bulgur-wheat, bumblebee. I’ve picked up aviator glasses and a leather dolly. Good luck finding me ocean-side.
Your perseverance is stupid, because I don’t like you anymore. I was just telling my dentist about the peppermints you left lining my porch railing. Luckily, they did not rot my teeth because I fed them to the local roosters. My old lover and I are building a boat to sail to Cuba. I am a tiny communist with sunburned shoulders. We are leaving our apologia under the southernmost boulder.
I have joined the ballet. Water from the secret piscina baptizes my esophagus. I am cleaner than you.
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