Woeful wonders wander wildly over what once was. Tarantulas totter tipsily to the tarantella left tattered from tired times, perhaps trying to push pleasant poison from their piqued pipes. Atrophies arouse attraction, accumulating air of arrogant atrociousness and arrant beauty in the inception of ideal inklings of individual loss. Cheshire cats cheerfully chide the careless comings and goings of life, of love, which litter they're leniently limited lives. Lenient likely describes since like or unlike lives of these lilac layered lovers can choose its last light. Breathe be baited before this baseless belittlement of life, bodies being born from aroused attributions of attraction, from life liable love. Tarantulas totter tipsily to the tarantella left tattered from tired times, perhaps pursuing purpose in the putrid piles collecting from pure perseverance of passion. Kisses can kill, charming cats call, living not their last life. And yet still tired tarantulas tiresomely attempt to take meaning from their tiny bit of tender time. Creatures cursed to kill when they kiss, tarantulas totter tipsily to the tarantella left tattered from tired times, stealing semblances of sureness, of certainty, in the cultured compassion of creation, in the fact they find love even if it ends their little lovely lives. Woeful wonders wandering wildly….wonderfully over what will be.