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To concretize my theorized love, I could play the accidental odds and strew slippery tongues of spotted petals onto thickly trafficked highways, or use the best predictive modelling to deduce when and where I can poke out a well-heeled boot to trick unwary spills and ****** a kiss from the unsuspecting lips of any suitably compatible passerby oft times inconvenienced and passed on by. These well-oiled and crudely experimental methods do produce expected results, but not the breakthrough nor the looked-for satisfaction of appropriate reactions, so I'll keep my dotted eyes tucked in their pulpy stems and my shoddy toes curled back while I beam my bits of invitation through circuitous routes spatially arrayed along parallel paths where one might search with an extra-terrestrial inventiveness, and wait. I know the trials of these errant waves won't add up to a guarantee my burpy blips of a pulse can reach the receptively comprehending and responsive soils I seek, but it's the remoteness of a stead to come stalking that appeals, and despite the Hawking drone of unveiled warnings I might regret such contact, I'll risk it all on vaguely washed wishes this astronomical anomaly with an alien sensibility has one match.
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May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 3:15 PM UTC
What love becomes, when you think too much
To concretize my theorized love, I could play the accidental odds and strew slippery tongues of spotted petals onto thickly trafficked highways, or use the best predictive modelling to deduce when and where I can poke out a well-heeled boot to trick unwary spills and ****** a kiss from the unsuspecting lips of any suitably compatible passerby oft times inconvenienced and passed on by. These well-oiled and crudely experimental methods do produce expected results, but not the breakthrough nor the looked-for satisfaction of appropriate reactions, so I'll keep my dotted eyes tucked in their pulpy stems and my shoddy toes curled back while I beam my bits of invitation through circuitous routes spatially arrayed along parallel paths where one might search with an extra-terrestrial inventiveness, and wait. I know the trials of these errant waves won't add up to a guarantee my burpy blips of a pulse can reach the receptively comprehending and responsive soils I seek, but it's the remoteness of a stead to come stalking that appeals, and despite the Hawking drone of unveiled warnings I might regret such contact, I'll risk it all on vaguely washed wishes this astronomical anomaly with an alien sensibility has one match.
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francis-scudellari
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May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 3:15 PM UTC
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