Over a bowel of pears, like guava sweetness, tired and
laughing. Suddenly, serious—like refugees. I’ve a start button, mesmerized by
technique, it’s three hours in—galloping, a mare and stallion, toppling in for
a hug. Winds swarm justice. I was infatuated—if you wondered—I maintain as
instructed; Love is a strategist, raised in battles, it comes naturally—it might
still hurt—by flame to insist, to know, as it is—this is destiny. To polish a
feeling, to agree with pressures, with something urgent boring the madness.
Over a bowel of grapefruit—reminiscing, it was particular the smile, a smirk,
looking yonder, and grabbing the upper arm. I mix tables, a true DJ, at some
unphysical element, sheer mystery. I notice distinct jewelry—seduction—on a
level—with your souls; the sickness in cadence, auras fretting a talkative
nature, and I knew it would be different.
