Terminally uninspired, eyes fix to pavements. That’s what they call a linewhore.
Invites for the evening I decline. Roundabout 8:30 I take 2 Valerian Root tablets.
Nonetheless, at 3AM I usually wake, proceed to the kitchen and slurp a glass of milk.
I’m not sure if I dream of digits.
On the other hand.
She who I adore. Preserved, fragile.
A field of flowers.
Let say it rains, the clatter of hoofs.
She is untouched by the talk like kitchen towels, by routine.
In the world where I exist she will decline me.