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...you've still time
write it down.
Two Days [to-days]
& all the moments inbetween.
12 December 2009 @ 12:05 am
02 December 2009 @ 12:05 am
- 13:05 @MorganOlympia Ahh! No hair? You must look like me, except better. Wow. Good for you. #
- 13:12 Hello morning, waking up at a rest stop and driving straight to town. Work=Cake for breakfast. Something I shouldn't say, wait at silence #
15 November 2009 @ 01:26 pm
..-a quick rewrite of what's erased from last night-..
We lied, painted faces and pretended as if we knew Africa. The crowd ate it up like sweets left over from Halloween. But our cast dillusion carried truth in that rain, as remorse, comes watershed, nourishing the bed of dead seeds to sprout into green forgiveness and reconcilliation.
Afterward I lied amidst the painted jugle foliage walls taunted by a romantic vision.
Miranda Caulkins smiling content in a glow of hot radiance of sundown. Her face lightly freckled, her head tilted fifteen degrees warmer, autum rouge hair trickling off her left shoulder like a new-birthed water fall.
As if she'd just sighed happily, almost fulfilled. Perfection only at the caress of key and lock carved hands to turn her open.
She's a stranger to me.
I hold zero feelings, here.
She doesn't need my touch, or my eyes agog, but it was soothing like an eyeland getaway to stay with her those minutes. And so the tropic breeze, the day spent writing about her -even with the content lost. I admired her and attended her shape. In the smallest way, for only once, I loved her.
We lied, painted faces and pretended as if we knew Africa. The crowd ate it up like sweets left over from Halloween. But our cast dillusion carried truth in that rain, as remorse, comes watershed, nourishing the bed of dead seeds to sprout into green forgiveness and reconcilliation.
Afterward I lied amidst the painted jugle foliage walls taunted by a romantic vision.
Miranda Caulkins smiling content in a glow of hot radiance of sundown. Her face lightly freckled, her head tilted fifteen degrees warmer, autum rouge hair trickling off her left shoulder like a new-birthed water fall.
As if she'd just sighed happily, almost fulfilled. Perfection only at the caress of key and lock carved hands to turn her open.
She's a stranger to me.
I hold zero feelings, here.
She doesn't need my touch, or my eyes agog, but it was soothing like an eyeland getaway to stay with her those minutes. And so the tropic breeze, the day spent writing about her -even with the content lost. I admired her and attended her shape. In the smallest way, for only once, I loved her.
all over your face [: stable again
sing me to rise [: Atmosphere of the Porch, Anathallo
23 October 2009 @ 12:05 am
- 14:59 @MorganOlympia I believe you need to leave, for you. I really hope it's not too far. #
17 October 2009 @ 12:05 am
- 10:56 @eviltwinn2 Yes, always, goodness is indisputable. #
- 14:49 @eviltwinn2 Your life is gorgeous sometimes. #
- 14:51 @MorganOlympia Take care, I like you. #
- 14:58 Considering the longitudinal geological after-math of tsunami. #