I promised not to show my carnal obsession with you until you got your spark back in your writing.
You noticed?
….
Two weeks of humdrum and I allowed it. Just wringing around and adjusting tempo unsure of myself and I knew you’d notice and wonder where your friend was gone. Where she was protesting away? Unconniving and unplanned out of all sorts. Where had the tempest with ink had gone all this time away?
I stayed recounting and my only truth left was in hints by one that could only pull off a poly-suits of life than me. In the comments not in the disdain. How much it could hit me, tempering in the strictest yellow-wave tone. Adhering to our professional and personal lives and I had to figure you many times and still am.
My one corner stone I can’t block out to mean nothing before I had this virtuous life and you wanted to stick around for the horror shows. Our worst mission yet, and yet you stay firm in the onlyway accountable. “I don’t believe that shit.” in chartereuse in the scariest phrase I’ve ever heard.
And i can get you a million ways.
Oh no, yes. I’m talking with you. The base level crust, not the other stuff.
petrichor - archive 