Spreadsheets of nescient sparks drove us away
chauffeuring us to logistics of our own. Deleted
files logged traces of love. It was as clean as this.
Oxymoronic? In your lexeme I was a cunning
linguist. Knit of stitches cloaked in your word
salad didn't give rise to schadenfreude. Myso-
phobia helped in ways not natural to it. More
I perused you more I perceived, track was right.
My navaid led me.