I think I’ll write a poem now.
Waiting for something to happen.
Some creative bit, some explosion of inside-ness…
I want to explore what I might be hiding away.
Boris says,
It’s a coffee cat…
Are you 40 ouncing?
Bahahahhahaha.
Missing something- the nightlife.
He asks me if I have any paper clips- the long ones- not these.
A certain hallway, alleyway, dimensions taut and stretched.
It was a honeymoon before,
withstanding my direction.
I’m not thinking very clearly.
nightshiftsister 