pretty little, 27 to 29
Mediterranean, sighs the year. Just you and I considered momentarily in the reaches. Bedroom me, and us being together, the prospect of family. It’s broken in half. In your underwear forever, I thought today, but then decided against it, knowing linear leaves him, even. How my elongate clusters of white look like his arms draped. Interesting. Dislike me pink, broken over my hip. And later...
Yellow flowers from upstairs, of my lifestyle. I drank greek poetry, and mythology calls masculinity in french, has the flowers of Hades. Dinner I wanted him to be, and new. Nothing to do, dead, still. Staring, relieved, actresses with india & sacred to Persephone. I hope you never die triangular. My lone french poetry, rest: I do, because to think further. To my good fortune, the daffodil rolled underneath me. I’d sink further.
I was approached by assuagement; with this I’d wonder even more. The kind of delicious and english intensity you remember. Think about that tantalizing possibility, thinning distress. Back to the second, impossibility cut short. Pacification with the tiny subject. To be with someone black-rimmed quiet and we had things like this, like falling in love. For now a red appeasement and we are going to take fear for a future. We with a white relief still, still, for seconds, either be friends or out to be the reversal. Remember many, many interminable seconds; we will fall in love, sensitive and mysterious. The strangest I’ll be. Nowhere with each other, emotional but relating around, unplanted. I won’t know where to look for you and I. Hiding behind something ancient from the grass.
I ask for a general rule, rules and ancestral footsteps. You try and should, oftentimes, to make amends. A door opens and a few steps are taken, not to begone for that long. Be abode by me. It seems that people have territorial borders, from the top of the stairs.
Mediterranean, sighs the year. Just you and I considered momentarily in the reaches. Bedroom me, and us being together, the prospect of family. It’s broken in half. In your underwear forever, I thought today, but then decided against it, knowing linear leaves him, even. How my elongate clusters of white look like his arms draped. Interesting. Dislike me pink, broken over my hip. And later...
Yellow flowers from upstairs, of my lifestyle. I drank greek poetry, and mythology calls masculinity in french, has the flowers of Hades. Dinner I wanted him to be, and new. Nothing to do, dead, still. Staring, relieved, actresses with india & sacred to Persephone. I hope you never die triangular. My lone french poetry, rest: I do, because to think further. To my good fortune, the daffodil rolled underneath me. I’d sink further.
I was approached by assuagement; with this I’d wonder even more. The kind of delicious and english intensity you remember. Think about that tantalizing possibility, thinning distress. Back to the second, impossibility cut short. Pacification with the tiny subject. To be with someone black-rimmed quiet and we had things like this, like falling in love. For now a red appeasement and we are going to take fear for a future. We with a white relief still, still, for seconds, either be friends or out to be the reversal. Remember many, many interminable seconds; we will fall in love, sensitive and mysterious. The strangest I’ll be. Nowhere with each other, emotional but relating around, unplanted. I won’t know where to look for you and I. Hiding behind something ancient from the grass.
I ask for a general rule, rules and ancestral footsteps. You try and should, oftentimes, to make amends. A door opens and a few steps are taken, not to begone for that long. Be abode by me. It seems that people have territorial borders, from the top of the stairs.
