It'll mix. The fluids congeal to solid
strength and you doubt it, irresolute
and faithless, interrogating my conviction.
My hand's back waves you away, forces
you to quiver and melt, until your theory
mingles with mine, mating to produce results.
Breed and water exact absolution. You
reproduce acceptance, acquiesce. I
assure you, soothe your bulky frame.
The solution, at last, becomes its third
form, and we smile, as proud parents to
this universe, this genesis of ours.
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