My bangs transcend this copine trend.
I sneeze on my hand and wipe it on my jeans.
So obscene, but then there is no dream to shatter,
so it doesn't matter.

I love your glove.
I will stroke it like a dove bar with my tongue.
It is melting before I get a chance to put a ring on it.
And then you fly away like a dove.

Come back, broken image, I remember your dimensions,
so perfect, so fine, so rare.
You broke into my camping site like a bear.
You invaded my toothbrush like a hair.
You wigged out my computing experience like a glare.
Come back, broken image.