I can never tell if it’s like voodoo magic, pouring into a cauldron. I wander the circumference. The job will remain mutable, those sharp x-rays. I laugh over a neat beverage; to imagine she used her heart, mastered by her brains. Many have an inkling, a notion, nothing static though. Others have infinity, sadness, shocked those wings keep flapping. I never asked for help. One assumed I needed adjustments. Based in her own assessment. And fall comes with cries; I wonder over lies we never adjust. Seaglass to relax. Marshweed trekking. We seem regulated, in search of fulfilling fires. For many it’s simple: I feel resonance, it means attraction. I fight against this understanding. To crumble often; to partake of ambiguity; to hear phantom like guffaw. A neater drink, accused of grogging, anything to look nose down, it makes mirrors more friendly. I can never fix it; and she needs it to live. It’s a crossing, so crosswise, melting into resentment. It’s alike to trying to connect with Love, and another interrupts, not out of passion for Love, just to ensure the connection is made impossible. I often sail inside, asking where she loves, to hope somewhere, two are enjoying ecstasies. To be honest, she seems to have a lot of free time. I will leave that alone. We live in a draconian land. One can believe what he wants, but he must keep it to himself. The coven, correct?
