xxv. the plot thickens

my job is to write. yours is to read carefully and contemplate, letting your imagination reconstruct the narrative, pausing on hot spots like hands over a ouija board.
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i could tell you were taking away the key when we hit our first false note. don't talk about music if you don't want the whole piano.
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laying there, feeling you breathe into me, was all it took to make me want to learn about forever.
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i love the rains and i love summer and all the things you do between the sheets and the naked commute. come in and weather beside me and we'll let the poor seasons be.
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there is no poetry here. only words, just words.
- 24,607 voyages
thank you for pushing my final buttons. everyone else had sticky fingers.

November 15, 2005

i thought briefly of systematically destroying this intimacy, but as i had no ax, i couldn’t do a good job of destruction.

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