Quickfire

It’s a coffee-driven ride, sixty- four plus five, there’s always more power when the louder man cries. Ecstasy crystallized, Aphroditic surprise, Delta of Venus seen with glee in your eyes. Oh how I wish I were that glass of absinthe, crème de menthe, that fair night (what a stint), I swear you could taste revolution hellbent. Synchronicity what simplicity my Bhuddic love-mystery synesthetic accessory to the future of history. It’s my metamorphosis mixed, backwards like a trick so let’s wait a few months and welcome the bricks.