Writing on the Wall

How decadent. I'm writing on the wall without leaving a mark while finishing yesterday's wine, still in the glass. I poured the rest into my glass as if to save you from dissolving yourself. There is residue from yesterday but not that much. I'm exactly as I should be: here, no fear (or at least diminishing,) and projecting my thoughts with my new old ASK Proxima.

I'll bet you'll think this song is about you...

The sky is broken. Pink flesh peaks out through the blue sky and I long to reach it but I know that it's just right where it is...cupid's tummy, or the thigh of a child lodged between wisps of cumulus. Thank you Miley for teaching me about clouds in my coffee and thank you cicadas for chirping exactly as you did in my childhood when a game of tag might happen in the depths of the trees and excitement was this perfect lurking thing that I didn't fear.