Not expecting too much. Heavy handed dreams, like those of the past. Juggling. Drink quick and believe in your future. Beliefs ever changing, always present. Warmth of a beautiful feline queen in your lap. The intriquicies of fur radiating up along the bridge between her nose and furrowed neck. The spell is broken and she's clawing up the canvas, scratching open the illusory insulation. Still love. Still thorough and williaming. Still kitchy grins. Still standing up.
She's gone and I am alone in my room clicking away. A distant fall sunlight so still. Left with my music, campfire smell on my jacket, twisted spine, desires still cooking over varnished and painted wood of childrens bed lofts.
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