The robot is turned on now,
and he, at last, then,
warms us so.
And the cats come,
when we call them home.
And we make feast,
from raw milk cheese,
and spelt flour, chocolate,
broth from bones.
And fitting hip to hip
we sail in sky or sea,
and glow like coal,
two rocket ships, us,
made to fit together,
pino, he loves carrot,
she loves monkey,
he loves we.
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