Abruptly ended the wind-gate, that would propel the force necessary to finally launch her ideations into the exosphere where they belong. Silenced, and there was no frequency this time.
Twiddling thumbs and bouncing knees; anxiety
prone, you could say.
A dog barking, that dilutes whatever cosmic force that ensures safety in comfortability.
Arose, awakened.
Whatever that thing is that you do when aura surpasses the physical,
and one decides to take a trip.
A traveling master at the bounds of freedom in which lay some esoteric resolve.
Here the amenities, lie.
I thought the extra merch was for a push in the right direction.
She followed.
She transacted, and changed course.
So I follow her again.
Twiddling, bouncing knees.
Bounded in time, with aim to please.
So she finally said it was over, and departed.
She is whimpering at the glimpse of coming back.
Dismal discourse, with a very swanky tune.
Play the horn, and she’ll blow
over, the gust,
and bend,
the broken knee,
till rust,
corrodes.
It’s very cold on the bottom.
petrichor - archive 