Recumbent desires and cumbersome guilt affords us little in the way of meaning. You shouldn't look at me that way, if you don't want my delicate demands. I can't say what ferment swells and requisitions our future from clasped hands. Nor do I dare impart a wish to want more than fanciful moments, minuscule ticks off our kindness. Your seemly essence troubles us.
Is that enough?
Hello?
Why won't you listen to me this morning?
No comments:
Post a Comment
Whew! For a moment I thought you were leaving without commenting. Thanks!