Some signatures are expensive. Some
souls are historic. And some spirits are ancient. Over a screwdriver, aside
charming whispers, to know only moments, scars, music. Skin deep. It never
mattered. We can’t stand one another. Simple charisma, outshining each other,
distorted in private, asking mirrors vocally. Feeding intelligence. Relying upon
insights. Intuition a little influenced. Patriot flork(s). To announce
political stance. One might sense a different tone. To pamper poetry. To create
prose. And loving has been a challenge. One is critical at points, bias in
structure, human when alone; sufferable humans, beautiful souls, angelizing
realities; mime art, funeral harbingers, aviators too afflicted to pilot. Most
are lustful. Most are playful. We desire depth—afraid to show it, or determining
those that might present woes. Most subtle reasons, seduced by thoughts,
watching the valleys—torn in seas, close to breath, assuming many are walking asylums.
