I sit in a willow tree evening, framed in rhythmic power drill acoustics. I can't hear the shearing buzz across the rotted fence, though. The alkaline plugs in my head feed purity into my jugular in subaudible sibilance. The inside of my brain is a voided chamber-- a microcosm of the universe.
My lover sits beside me, on a giant green lotus with fuzzy edges, in asymmetrical mimicry. Stillness bubbles through our centerlines and cascades gently between our tiny, offensive mouths.
10:04 p.m. - 2016-03-09
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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