and still I have to stop and think, is it forwards, backwards, and do they know about Daylight Savings TIme, saving who from what,
I jokingly ask myself, to give my sweet angst, a a better coloration,
though these days, constant comets pass over us daily
but he is savvy smart, and yes, extraordinarily **** and knows my routines (he thinks), better than me, so when I drive to run in Santa Monica, alternating days, he texts in simultaneous harmony a minute after my too early alarm has me stumbling into semi-Cali-
quake-fulness
we are years apart, not so many that it's remarkable, just big enough gap, to make life problematical; his career launched, serious guy,, me well, i'm a perpetual student, when not modeling, and my mom, GBH, and my over pestering, now single parent, demonstrate her mathematical abilities by telling me how closehow close is 30 is when one subtracts my "aging pores," & how little sleep she gets because she in in her EST zone
but when he calls, he calls at irregular times, "to better gauge my mood," how he, my day surveils, so he can adjust to my chemical imbalance, an area of his expertise; and its sweet, and it works, and too often, I ramble while listens, for his day is ending, and mine is far from fulfillment
he is European, full of genteel words and english language quips,
especially since he believes he can still sway with his sophisticated
endearments; but what he doesn't know in the late afternoon, his bedtime, while he is conducting a sweet nothing roundup of adoration, my hand slips between my legs, and my envisioning of his lean, broad body being in my interior so tight, for I have crossed my crushing legs behind his back pushing him inside, it nearly makes breathing impossible
HE LOVES MY SOfT TONES, at this hour, my distracted noises, til he says you sound so tired, I'll let you go; and I willingly, comp-licitly, give him my heated best love notes, and teary gasps, when I mumble
see you soon, thinking in my dreams, for I know his schedule, and exactly when I'll be landing and exactly how long it will be,
till we, are within each other, without any interference, of lairs and
sun flaring interruptions,
from time
and space, those scientific laws of this tiring
annus horribilis
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 5:45 PM UTC
and still I have to stop and think, is it forwards, backwards, and do they know about Daylight Savings TIme, saving who from what,
I jokingly ask myself, to give my sweet angst, a a better coloration,
though these days, constant comets pass over us daily
but he is savvy smart, and yes, extraordinarily **** and knows my routines (he thinks), better than me, so when I drive to run in Santa Monica, alternating days, he texts in simultaneous harmony a minute after my too early alarm has me stumbling into semi-Cali-
quake-fulness
we are years apart, not so many that it's remarkable, just big enough gap, to make life problematical; his career launched, serious guy,, me well, i'm a perpetual student, when not modeling, and my mom, GBH, and my over pestering, now single parent, demonstrate her mathematical abilities by telling me how closehow close is 30 is when one subtracts my "aging pores," & how little sleep she gets because she in in her EST zone
but when he calls, he calls at irregular times, "to better gauge my mood," how he, my day surveils, so he can adjust to my chemical imbalance, an area of his expertise; and its sweet, and it works, and too often, I ramble while listens, for his day is ending, and mine is far from fulfillment
he is European, full of genteel words and english language quips,
especially since he believes he can still sway with his sophisticated
endearments; but what he doesn't know in the late afternoon, his bedtime, while he is conducting a sweet nothing roundup of adoration, my hand slips between my legs, and my envisioning of his lean, broad body being in my interior so tight, for I have crossed my crushing legs behind his back pushing him inside, it nearly makes breathing impossible
HE LOVES MY SOfT TONES, at this hour, my distracted noises, til he says you sound so tired, I'll let you go; and I willingly, comp-licitly, give him my heated best love notes, and teary gasps, when I mumble
see you soon, thinking in my dreams, for I know his schedule, and exactly when I'll be landing and exactly how long it will be,
till we, are within each other, without any interference, of lairs and
sun flaring interruptions,
from time
and space, those scientific laws of this tiring
annus horribilis
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