Kate—I'm afraid
you
and I
start to run together
whenever I see us
walking mid-
western
Great Lakeside—
light clothes
on blue
breezes, white
laughter
crossing
tall ships—it all
just pretty
much swirls
and gets rather
indecorously
jumbled together—such that
there—along my warped
mind's
fantastic old boardwalk
toddle the bobbing four
legs
of a two-
headed rumpled-
but-
lovable monster—
its several
rows
of jabbering
jaws lightly flapping
and sinewy
arms tied
up so tightly
together
and—occasionally a few
surreal lulls—whenever
a long garish
twin-
tongue
comes un-
apologetically lolling
out
to skim
the tip-tops
of two—freakishly large individual
triple
chocolate chip waffle cones.
