The list of things left undone during weekend has slowly compiled and congealed into a glutinous mass of dust covered jelly, that I now intend to wibble wobble with haste; in order to deconstruct it to its most gelatinous state.
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I'd kept on my person some stories and poems enqued to be read at a time when I was freer and alone, and my oh my.
Sigh.
Words, like hidden nooks in enigmatic crannies, woven in a rhythm that's been sand blasted to smooth edges on razor surface.
They taste of blood, they taste of sand, they taste of petals.
Celestial roses that bite your fingers off when touched.
Always, a greedy reader..more..more.
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My heart caves at every subtle reference, a blush so Crimson, I have no use for makeup.
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