She abstracts me from thinking in correspondence.
The symbiosis between us is an ilk drawn by oblivion and distaste.
My intellectual property in fact has been decocted by the thud of her voice, uninfluenced of her literal aphorism.
Her whimsicality disproves my goal of escape disproportionately, leading to an incontestable emotion.
My useless trickery disintegrates and I succumb un-admittedly.
She is the symphony to any verbal effect, the rhyme to an attempted haiku.
She is the immaterial love that brings me disruption and unprepared musings.
…
