I have taken a tattoo onto my cheek and am trying to tell you with my dictionary fingers that there are whole scenes in teeth cavities waiting for spit flints. Tell me about the trees and the faces and the streets
Helping him hang pictures he slugs tea and tells her that leaves are just geometric. Crunched down her haunches outside she teaches tack pins to swim in puddles, silently takes 'you can't break a lake' on her left cheek.
I can't come across while I still think my head is a pin prick on my grave marble arms. My pink liquid fingers keep playing songs that even my tongue does not know. I am trying to grow some window plants.
I am in love in Paperchase, stuck in front of the card rack flushed for choice. I stick my white neck up into the pencil section and try to teach my cheek to remember the smell of the point. I pack lust into a lever arch file,