739.

Certain, from a slow
night's hypochondria, that
it's death manifest.

738.

Before the gentle
poison of affection is
shunned out of dumb fear.

737.

Eating up the last
space left for logic to be
and love to succeed.

736.

The paranoid's dream,
where a disease can reach past
reason into brains.

735.

Communication
of any sort a promise
for further advance.

734.

Jumping skin-to-skin
and tongue-to-tongue, taking out
any way to warn.

733.

One mouth ties itself
into two and on the rot
just keeps on spreading.