I thought i had a lover who lived by the ocean. I waited for him to take me to the sea, he threw all his clocks in a pail, full of ticking and distance and smoke. Shouting enui the smoke fell to the ground like a rock fingering the moist silence, how much he wanted to ravage me and take me, make me his. but the the ocean washed my lacrima, mixing with the morning dew, shaking in the cold the sea whose hand had washed the tiny golden flecks hidden without the sun. My mistake was to leave a hole for the remorse twisted in my atria fragrant but pungent as the cicada humming her eulogy sitting with a mantid.
It would be a cold bliss of fractured bone. My flute took off on its own breathing. Mystical discharges inward and outward, the ozone caught fire in the darkness, so unexpected. Rather than out, My scream is only there as long as I feel the rumbling of the essential cat.