While I pretend sometimes,
all it does is come back to me.
A wiggle,
a sigh.
Ain't nothin' discontent,
j'st a beast that summons.
Like gathering slime.
Does it matter,
who covers me?
Just a whole, lost soul.
Covered in what oughta be
some rhyme I've never heard of.
But that's just the case,
gathering
my thoughts
just to erase.
As an experience, I overcome
what was
with
what is,
and what is
is a storm.
ahem. Rather, a storm.
Rather, a STORM.
And that's what we refer to.
In reference to, let's dance:
Swing away with meee.
On my own sweet living.
But I...
But I ever was with you.
Does it swi-ing me?
No...oOoo...
I am alone.
BUT WITH YOU WE SWIRL,
LIKE WE DO TOGETHER.
AND WITH YOU I BRIGHTEN,
LIKE YOU INTO IT.
that's never been the point, though...
so stop.
perhaps that's my
meekness
showing through.
Through it, in me.
Cursing through
what ought to be:
just a long lost sorrow,
summoning the wind.
it's what's natural,
you know,
to drift
toward
the
higher aesthetic.
like
Latin...
or
a Mediterranean pearl.