The thing about reckless captivation is we throw ourselves at it-die over it-live on it-and drink to it.
The gym. A circus of self-improvement, filled with sweaty individuals fueled by the fires of self-loathing and others judgments.
Yes, she showed, and when she showed the other night-she struck, yes she struck like lightning.
She struck an impact upon my assumed solitude, and ripped the rationality of thoughtful action at its seams, and she burned hellish magic with eyes that were cedar stones every time I held her glance.
I cuddle something fiercely intimate.
She’s too good for anyone. She’s too good for you, she’s too good for me, and she’s too good for the rest of them.
My socks don’t match anymore.
We’re both missing a few pieces, yet tonight, we’re making it work somehow.
I had a dream about you last night.
Technological innovation skirting along at such a rate, it short-circuits my hard-wired, muddled mind – who’s to have a shot in an archery range in hell, at guessing what’s next in the way of social media dating, inspired fervor.
Read this my love – then read it again.