Sunday, March 16, 2003
Avid natter (ardent chatter): I'm glad he knows you, but what kind of li(f)e is this?
King of kings (thing of things): It is such a paste. Ow.
Owl sans one wing can do nothing but sit and stare past the glass toward the children inside the carpeted wigwam.
Wham. You promised. Promised. Promised
Prom missed. (She won't be there because it's a Friday.)
Of course you understand how much more important the rest of my life is, right?
Yes, of course. D'Eifel, d'eifell, d'eifail. And we've both been having unfaithful dreams. You are so bad.
King of kings (thing of things): It is such a paste. Ow.
Owl sans one wing can do nothing but sit and stare past the glass toward the children inside the carpeted wigwam.
Wham. You promised. Promised. Promised
Prom missed. (She won't be there because it's a Friday.)
Of course you understand how much more important the rest of my life is, right?
Yes, of course. D'Eifel, d'eifell, d'eifail. And we've both been having unfaithful dreams. You are so bad.
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