Tuesday, January 5, 2010


Given up on the journal.  That misplaced piece of typography.  A crushed cigarrette butt lying upright next to a burning one.  Smoke in the eye.  Untight glasses peering onto clicking keys.  Our lovemaking.  From minimal instinct to severe intensity.  Seers inside. Gone with a committment, yet freedom breeds moments of untranslated honesty. 

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