| Curve |
| A curve of smooth grey nothing A twist of willful wanting Sponge of milky almost Matter smeared against me Stuck within the crevice Glued unto the premise Tacky tricks will turn The latitude degrees Arid acrid sacred Mighty moody mandate An offer beiger than me Slackens the intensity A food devoid of taste A fever gone to waste A scent that veils the corpse Crudest curve of fate |