she whispers latin when she's bored. our rapport; my frown's most discrete little morph. symbolic fortune cookies open in accord; i find letters in my mouth sometimes. she never tells me what they're for. she wrote: "in the wake of rising authority; i move in the moonlight, i groove in the hindsight, complimenting my limelight and insubordinance. perceptive of my plight in conformity, these artists just annoy me; a plague to worn pencils every night." my pen weighs more than myself right now. i hope this isn't permanent.
nice man...the first stanza is pure jazz and symmetry...the last line is a killer finish...good write...
