Even relapsing fails reenchanting flaccid synapses.
Old wallpaper damp-warped,
Half-scraped from my soul’s facade.
Do we strive to fit pitiful shapes
Or are we made at penetration inferior creatures?
Her wolf hair posterior-reaching covered like a woollen cape
Her scar-striated vertebrae.
Her features each leeched of plainness
By the eager projections of come courters.
In glum quarters at close quarters,
We rubbed source off a quarter.
Her inescapable beauty quartered my drawn portion,
My spine impossibly inclined, wide as a yawn.
Alchemisland 
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