Hmm.

Shut up, brain.
No really. Quiet.
So?
Yeah.
And?
That's not true.
Honestly.
It can't be.
If it was it would make everything that's happened this year completely-
Oh.
Um.
Well.
...
Damn.

Twoo

Owls craft a city made from love
and beaches
and umbrellas
and synth.
That is what they are.
It's a shame most people don't see it.

Tumble

Feelings only read about in books and imagined in measured amounts.
Your mouth finds mine
and you place your hands down
and they rush in at once.
Ah.
This would be it, then.
Roll.
Sigh.
Shift.
Press.
Pause.
Gasp.
And then you are lost to it.
Exultant feelings are shared.
Dominion is won.
A vague feeling passes that redfaced looks and shy conversations loom.
But that is for tomorrow.
Shove.
Press.
Arch.
Lift.
Sigh.
Flow.
And inwardly, you sing.

Run

Her feet slip. They have found her again.
She tastes despair. They would never have lost her forever, but this is the shattering of one more hope, built so tenuously and linked with her self. It is her fault, her noise and smell, that attracts them.
They lope easily beside her, and seem to taunt her with their half-truths.
We are many.
We are endless.
We are destruction.
We will catch you.

The rains pour steadily on, and she can do nothing but run.

Slightly Mad

Sometimes I like to speak aloud.
In your voice.
Hope that's okay.

Smile

The stomach churns, settles, and calm becomes him, something like peace.
A smile spreads. The day is won.

Folly

she wags a finger, makes a change, loses a sight and it is done.
done like unfairness, and the taste of bile in the back of a throat, and a welling in the eyes.
the other walks sedately away, plots revenges that fall away as soon as rise.
unfair. but not untrue.