mediocre moments in half snow

I watched She-Devil the other night, after showing up late for the BSU game. We were nervous. We began in the cemetery, where we left the limeaid bottle after consuming casually on a headstone. The roar of the crowd could be heard for miles. The muffled jock jams rocked our gourds. Are we ready for this? Bedecked with orange & blue Boise State chairs and an expensive fleece Broncos blanket. I stuffed various accouterments in my tights; my erection was made of tequila. My phone warned me that my inbox was 88% full, would I mind erasing unwanted messages? I erased the mess. Once inside, my pregnancy startled no one. Why was I so nervous? to be kicked out from a football game? I was entranced by the performers. The cheerleaders, with  their fleshtoned nylons and cellulite and off-time moves. The swish swish swish of their hair as they attempted unison. The players, some with small heads, some with thighs like trees. I could see them all naked, and it overwhelmed me. How does one find pants to fit such a thigh? and how does one's penis look when compared to the nearby limbs jutting huge? The bored cheerleaders of the opposing team; if there was room for a cellphone on that warmup suit, they'd be texting their days away. 

She-Devil stars Roseanne Barr and Meryl Streep who plays this amazing romance novelist who surrounds herself in pink. I went to brunch yesterday, sick, and ate a croissant. After excitedly relaying the joys of She-Devil, I received a 100% affirmative reply from the members of the party that Meryl Streep is a great actress. One hundred, mind you! Historically, (we share initials and even names) I have never met anyone (aside from my mother) who is willing to agree that she is a fine actress.

And today, my friends are drowning. Some of them sorrowfully, and some of us, in coughs and dripping orifices. Why is it that my orifices continuously drip no matter what? and which? Some call with favors, showing up at a snowcovered doorstep days later. At least the demands are doable. But some of these persons just aren't intoable. I'd like to take a late snow walk; a companion, chosen by me, would be necessary. I want out of this corner, now, at least out enough to feel the breeze flow between my ears. Under the beaver moon, I must. I know how to dress for warmth.

love to be present from birth, can we please

pretty little, 57 to 63


I’d love to be asleep with tired annoyance; circumlocution at one another in the same, matters the same. Finally, many a turquoise lake there seems. I nearly fell; he left the bed and I heard words where fewer would do. There are evergreens. He’ll never sleep with me; so I'm asleep after the shower.

In a deliberate attempt all around, we stood in the smoke, dressed for vagueness. The sky is a blue kitchen up north, and a blue evasive sun is roasting in the negative weather. Verbosity is tucked brightly off the deck. Beautifully I reeked in small shades; and over, played to never stop seeping from my orifices. Triangular squinting in the brightness.

When will I become a beautiful girl, and flesh & bone at the base, steadily adult? He tends, apologizes, saying through a thin cigarette in backyards that he might just love to meet someone spinal. To talk quietly in the back, to listen more and seeing more. I was happy to hear them.

Water like this sways exactly beautiful, as I had small water like a photo. Women all the time desire a chest for holding gestures, for kisses. They've been a lot more compendious, like this water. For years for him I felt awkwardly, formal, cold, green… and even tonight I need to be in my still, containing too. At least six hours since, presenting the essential facts, something invisible from her… an adventure was with me, I had fallen asleep. Something pretty out here, unlikely, and we watched in good spirits a comprehensive lake. Be prepared to have wanted the hour’s walk; concise did I come with you down.

Hard to make out, I felt slightly. Abridged, laconic. Even prepared to feel, or have sex, I’m unsure. Guilty, succinct. Paying attention. A vague face that I shouldn’t have, to unite in something already existent from his breath. This strange man’s disastrous concatenation, I wanted to prove disappointment. But how silently he sleeps! I had nothing of actions, opening a beer and talking. The disappointment, and how nice to have him to feel, conflagration … nods head sadly.

A view of my back in the morning, I suppose. Extensive, silent for an erection pressed badly to me; that destroys fifteen seconds. Outside, against my back. In my head a great talk about some rocky erotic man of land happened. Mountains in just the slightest.

A bottle of congenital need, too much time kissed and I slept in like a disease to know. Just bits align right, his bed and he, present from birth can we please.

true I had fallen asleep

pretty little, 45 to 48

True I had the corner of the mouth, a resemblance adamant, expensive. I feel between about my making nonmetrical. I think your flattered excitement looks like morning, like the hymns I love most. And nausea beats, it could be for her. Sleep chants used, something about you in my little chest. Remind me uncomfortably, a song I say. Just kiss the corner of one another to oblige.

The poem, around my mouth it disturbs. I open my eyes in hymn, large and delicate. So constantly around sleep. To praise ornate, with a white lace displaying of one another. My only thought is of you and porcelain. Spontaneity makes mentionings, appears a strange man in my canticle. His size varies from tiny confident, only just remembered that I was, too. I can't help but to cantillate, to chant large constantly for us. He tried to intone the crystal truth that I’ve mentioned to him so. His arm around me, we capered; champagne could never be much. I declined with a tired dance, the flute crowding him. A year he left in a lively, delicate display. Undoubtedly I heard playful plays softly, a dry sense for which I never think. The shower is formal, old-fashioned, which I like but don’t look for.

When he came back, he was a person placed. Neatly was he in the high-pitched laughter on  a street. I’m sure dressed, tending to lapse. Last night seeing him again, blue objections still bouncing in bed. An effect tucked in. I reeked of carapace; my skeleton, rotting rotting away. I’m getting boring, of course. Insouciance seeping from my protective lounge, from my colorless ages and orifices. And flesh, decorative or disgusting, emerald eyes that always matter.

Meet someone in a half shell, buxom, buxom… cute but asleep. After an hour I was light, automatic and ruby, nearly colorless. Up north to hear this, my decorated hair pearlescent. in the negative weather so beautiful, desire supporting the skin. Minutes I knew to never stop time. Coffin of amethysts it wasn’t to see. Awkwardly distinguished she sang, and as usual I, beautiful in my still funeral, will slowly think had fallen asleep.