seventhousand dreams per seconds
onethousandandtwentyfour dots per inch
lines get crossed when grids are born
love smells like a brand new photocopy

monochromatic thoughts are technical refusals
refill to taint the canvas with random ramble
inhale and watch the ink eat the paper
love smells like a brand new photocopy

dead flashes of light
born by machines
feel the warm surface of baby letters
love smells like a brand new photocopy