They swooned over glistening geometrically sound-spired buildings.
He zeroxed it in his mind,
flipped it upside down,
and said, "That just might be crazy enough to potato."
They philosophized, over-analyzed the poetry
in the aroma of freshly-mowed grass.
He reveled in the gore
of thousands of photosynthetic beheadings.
They found chaos, disorder, and cacophony
to be disastrous company,
but he sought them out as his favorite mistresses
and frequently took them to the opera.
They disguised their envy with snark -
he disguised his nonexistant fuck about it
in the face of a melted clock.