A Word, Please... It was two widths of a lamb's shank that separated us, clandestine, but surmised, between membranous sheets of silicon. At this moment, I can see her eyes, perpendicular to mine, forming a kaleidoscopic centrifuge of human mirage. From this angle, I cannot look into her eyes, I can focus but on one.
Sometimes a Heading is just a Heading I grope to reclaim all of the insights I've ever had, as if they were lost to me. For the time that be's, evaporation, captured somewhere in heaven's nimbus, a moonbow around the stellar excitement of a novel idea. To imagine the narrative, but never speak or pen.
A Word, Please... And that every day that goes by without a word will end in neglect. Not that there is anything to offer my adoring self, watching hisself negotiate a chilly keyboard across the vibrational invoice sent from the hidden dimensions of void. As if something must come from something and somewhere. It's an