I turned the volume up this morning. Till there was ringing in my ears. I haven't felt this good in years. . Another villain on the cover. Of every major magazine.
Stripping flowers at pedal pace. Twirling blur of legs, legs and lace. Victoria, she loves her name. . Running flushed our faces red. Daring her to kiss, to kiss my head.
Thirteen miles on 31 are drying. All along adopt-a-highway lay the empty cans of masquerade. Thirteen miles on 31 are drying. The sky is lavender with ivory clouds that threaten drops of finger-paints.