display | more...
The truth I saw was like a green mossy cave, a definite carved space, full in itself, stetching away into hiddenness. When I tell stories about you I have to use my hands.

Sleeping next to you was allowing you as art. All I could do was admire your face and your generator omnivore textile mill brain.

Sometimes I am able to believe that you might be doing more than just putting up with me. Needless to say, it’s kind of my favorite dream.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.