Folded hands across a silken lap, eyelids like forceps, prying truth through the window of the soul and then slinking away like a vagabond into foresight. A dad with a tempest of thoughts and torrents of feeling each searching into only the bed sheets. I could think of a thousand ways and whims in which a dad could see me win at baseball and tell him of my slender sapling days; when all I did was baste myself in sun dampened locales with my cares all but floating lackadaisically, lapping up the sharpened shoreline of mmm and oooo and ahhhhh and dad. Dad. I don't know how to say this to you -- but I have ceaseless board games we could play. Until we are blue in the DICK.

Selma's a slore or this? CorDead

___________________
I PUT TRADEMARKS AROUND YO MOTHAFUCKIN EYE
JUST ME N YOU

i hate her for pulling the polypropylene and the curtain rising

rising like a starship into the night sky

unveiling your shadow

apprehensive

you dont step

she pushes you

ted promo it is not what i expect

your jokes i used to laugh and now i forget