Nobody is aware of what it’s.
Nobody you’d depend on
figuring out has a clue, which is true
thriller, not obfuscation,
a query contending
with the topsoil of time.
Need’s what’s the matter
with our lives, a sea parting
to disclose one other sea.
Its command renews,
swells and beckons:
You’d be a idiot to not love
till the final second.
