may 27 2014
so many gorgeous biways are blooming. there are so many tinglings on the cliffs of my throat that even i can’t understand. sweet men are romancing my evenings, & people come to my house to sing their song & then roam along, like a river, dear treacherous river. i must always say goodbye to the water but the flow remains & i plant myself on the bank & try to grow.
sticks are thrown.
love tries to leave me, or i spit it out. i fear these days are too good & my trials too farfetched & outdated.
thank you, someone, for understanding once.