Personally Engraved

There are many opportunities here for unrequited friendship, the offer letter said. All you need is a chain saw and die grinder. In this spirit I force my eyes across your message, revisiting that due diligence tone you do so well. I’m searching for some whispered twist or shout, but all emotion’s leveled, the way a child will draw a snowman and a mansion the same size. What is a dedicated icemaker dedicated to? Do you really think those shades you wear above your head will keep the sun out of  your mind? Rainbows stick to any abject object. That’s why I’m wearing that same old funky dress. When you kissed my forehead it felt like the priest’s thumbscrew touch rubbing in the dust- thou-art Ash Wednesday smudge. I’ve learned the dance instructor’s expository gestures. Now I’m learning tangos to be danced alone. While comrades buff officious cases barfed from their brains — eight parts moon venom one part nose waste — I ask can mine be personally engraved? I’m living in a please state, smarming how I’ve long admired your hardscape of artists morphed to small appliances. That being said, I’m having issues. Do you really think that scarf  will keep your snowman warm?