wahid.* don't spread yourself between my thighs, and expect my breath to come in gasps because i forgot your name. sprawl on a bed and weep for nothing, i won't wipe your tears.

ith-nain. jilted lovers are the worst kind, don't tell me about the romance of a broken heart when you don't have one to break. don't spin beautiful tales with perfect grammar that follow a flaxen haired princess from a tower into the jaws of a dragon.

thalatha. a cocked hat, painted coal black, some unidentifiable baseball team inscribed on the the front with mercerized cotton.

arba'a. don't take your ears in my hands and close my mouth slowly, i want my words to leak all down your clothes and stain your skin and carve me into every pore, microscopically and geometrically. i want to **** your soul to a hell that doesn't exist, slice your anima into three point five inch wide pieces and strew them across my palm, counting your molecules of existence with glee, don't stop me.