Monday, February 9, 2009
Should the morning light last all day, we'd make haste as we hold our canopies upright. I'd drape fleece over my dreaming shoulders. And should I begin to fight complacency, I'd be too fearful to signal in the midst of this rain. And should my parasol become weak, I've always fiction to confide in. My yarn consists of a warm living room on a lowly-lit afternoon. Should your thin lips surface the rim of a warm porcelain tumbler, I'd be forced to believe you are drinking consent as I imbibe on contempt. My eyes are fixed upon the static of non-fiction and the commonality we ought to share, but don't. I'll share my fleece if you'll share your consideration.