helloo?

is anyone there?

because on saturday night when i'm home alone, it's just so hard to be sure...

but this is an exercise that i need to perfect, isn't it? and then i either graduate to the perfect blend of domestic/hedonistic bliss with fat babies and smiling dogs in tow, or gin swilling spinsterhood where pretty pool boys tell me i use great eye cream on a daily basis.

expectation will ruin any party, but we do it to each other all the time. you expect that because i am extremely sensual that every opportunity for sexual exploration will be openly invited, and i expect...well i won't even say that here. that will be saved for the hand-written volumes that will no doubt be savored as they are wrenched from my cold dead hands, days later, when the neighbours have discovered my starving cats feasting on the still-tender flesh of my unyielding cheekbones.

trust is a word that i can't even form on my lips anymore when it comes to giving my heart away. even the tiniest crumbs of my heart.

you are magic. and i know you know me, but i must close down this hot dog stand for the summer. i absolutely adore you, and want to keep this perfect collaboration free of mustard stains, or tainted processed meats.

when you spread your wings, i lose my breath, and i can't afford to fly right now. i have barely figured out how to walk. and i suspect you could care less about flying anyway. but maybe that's the cynic in me.

let's just move onwards and upwards, shall we? i get it. i'm pretty sure you do too.

a well-oiled sewing machine and several hours of writing, listening, and sweeping costume epics will fix this. not to mention a good spooning with Arthur, a week without red wine, and a bit of my mom's home cooking.

i got a little caught up in the chutney, and the magic of us, together, in public spaces.

Kurt Weil and Haggen Daas, here i cum.