it starts like this. how will it end. shrapnel is blowing through my life like little bits of paper in a hole puncher. sqeezed fruit and plastic green giraffes pumpkins and munchkins and other things flowing like the atlantic - or are they exploding like volcanoes. a bit of me and a bit of her finishing, coroding, restart and whistle just the once. oh my! shes as amzing as the event in question. my memory serves me well, my imagination creative but its not the same as having her in my room, breathing my carbon dioxide right next to me. sweaty and emphatically enthralled with each others bodies. boss orange is lush, the shower room wet, will i win her heart now or play another hand to win the bet. the game. listen look and excite the butterflies that live inside, dormant for so long. hair and shoulders, massaged to relaxtion, because i want to. songs and poems written, and tho it may be grey out there and dark in here, my eyes see her surrounded by a beautiful blue. i see her in paris, with me of course, upon the hill sat at sacre cour gazing out to the lights below. i want her to be mine, she wants me to be hers, no hesitations. we are in it together now watch the plot unfold like a daily soap opera, turn on then have time to think, worries and turn off but it always comes back to the same. we are for it, we are deep in it, we have already dived into that deep end. we have to swim back to safety now. await to see whats waiting for us on shore.
