the sky matches my color today. a muddy mix. cold damp air. it gets difficult to nurture that little warm blue flame sometimes. it's never only an uphill battle or an easy way down. steady and progressive is better but always less exciting. i am the juggler, each ball takes its turn.
i have no muse. i have nothing to jiggle out words or images, just memories that seem to be stuck in ice, people that have gone stone cold. where is that little bit of fire floating to...
can you make another pass around. i want to feel the real, not dream vapors and hints of you floating in and out of obscure scenes.
if desire wore a dress, it would be deep red, strappy high heel sandals, and long ivory arms...she'd smoke those types of cigarettes with the long plastic tips, have sewn pearls down the skin of her back...she'd make your knees quiver and the aching release vibrate your vocal chords...