

Initiated.A breath, much like this very poem, (could be considered a gobbleInitiated.
of fresh air or maybe a last gasp of the aforementioned) was all that it took. One singular inhalation of the
collective bits of oxygen present in our wooden room and- were off! Spinning and twirling and circling and running and bumping and laughing and breathing. A quick inhalation. Eye contact.
I contact another person across our wooden room, bounding athwart towards me like a child;
we play


Green, Green, Green.When I stood on that ledge beneath that great green beyond and plunged into a digital bath courtesy of the Deftones,Green, Green, Green.
you were standing there. Pouting
because you thought I was playing favorites, when really I was just playing
You.
And when I sprinted down that bright green blunder, it reminded me of the first time we met up on the golf course at three in the morning and ran (booked it, if you will) from that bacon-strip prick, feet slapping against the wet,
sex hair un-kempt, ducking behind that sandy

--
I want to see the light leave your eyes.
--
I am fucking sick of having a signature.
how many bedrooms and all that? i could aid you upon my arrival, if you'd like.
--
I am fucking sick of having a signature.
it's so nice
I still miss you, and I hope you're doing great.
--
I want to see the light leave your eyes.
do you even use this da account anymore?
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