a dreaming of this at all sides, all angles, panorama surreality, bee bumbling about into the nexus of desire and longing and restraint, all passion an empty sleeve where moths gather up and burn through, scattered bulbs of gasoline and church pews, fluttering into the parched mouths of priests whispering your confessional and we all knock back tumblers, slamming our fists out of our chairs into listening for your cunt and all it begs of you