Sweet strings and a false setto on a seat.
i lean back and listen, with orange juice in hand.
getting used to the heat for once, letting it ooze into pores and suck out the sweat. there is no real air in this room. no breezy gusts blowing my knotty crossy hair. just artificial conditioners of air saving lives. well, almost.
its a new realm of the blah floating about in the room, staring on like women stuck in two dimensional colour.
this is home. this is ditzyland.
gentle ting tings of a recorded piano tease the tastebuds. pink martini. yum.
a jaundiced screen stares at my face in confusion, asking if i really wanna play solitaire.
a waiting book looks delectable,crispycrunchy. to be washed down with the aforementioned orange juice.
and i dream on about pure shores and divine times.
i lean back and listen, with orange juice in hand.
getting used to the heat for once, letting it ooze into pores and suck out the sweat. there is no real air in this room. no breezy gusts blowing my knotty crossy hair. just artificial conditioners of air saving lives. well, almost.
its a new realm of the blah floating about in the room, staring on like women stuck in two dimensional colour.
this is home. this is ditzyland.
gentle ting tings of a recorded piano tease the tastebuds. pink martini. yum.
a jaundiced screen stares at my face in confusion, asking if i really wanna play solitaire.
a waiting book looks delectable,crispycrunchy. to be washed down with the aforementioned orange juice.
and i dream on about pure shores and divine times.
posted by proserpine at 11:56 PM
2 Comments:
i like this. it flows in vague, pretty swirls. love the way the words taste.
thank you!
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