Nigh on February - Markov output 2

out.md

The drizzle had dried up --- though he hadn't noticed the blindfold left in his thoughts. You're not supposed to be sure, but not too warm. She says it can be a guaranteed safe place. Sawtooth liked to talk to someone. His boots were too much touch left one tingly.

It was soft-looking, almost downy, but certainly no protection against the bed, knowing that the weather offered, but it would never be the Centerpiece. She clambered up onto the other, and though both were freezing by the crocodile could. She'd always wake up well-rested. So warm and slick flesh. No denying it felt good, it usually brought with it is expensive.

Yeah, the work I need help inside, if I could take the proffered bite. The weasel grins, and I would destroy him and left her feeling this good by the time Taegen looked down at her plate. I'm sitting on the matter in a corner. I still enjoyed my time at the spot on the beanbag with the signs. AND THEN SHE HIT ME SHE SLAPPED ME I yelled that I could protect you or something within you --- is learning, but not yet warm enough for him.

The more submissive she felt. Ones that are half about how I'm going to surprise you, but figured I should share with your blessing. It doesn't go with the more I hid. I've never been able to look out the shop with us, saying little but saying it kindly. She put a glass in a heartbeat, leaning in to give her a squeeze, then guided her back with her claws.

I'll hold up the remote control type device. Christ, this is the direction we're going in, I guess I do, though. We're down to their breast, I would spend the days somehow. Maybe if she hadn't, though, it's written on your face when you have it. The golden pack of blank cards that were never meant for the coyote.

She picked at the words in the living room. Maybe it's the way to accept that. There was no reason to expect that work would change that, nor that this is still on my part, at least. She slowly reorganized her life was private but give a twinge of embarrassment: _flirting already? I don't want to talk her through a few glances, one or two by the paw.

Cyril never did, so haphazardly. _How such a patterned behavior, that I'd already crying. The frowsy badger behind the driver's side door. She made it further into her bag. His tail starting to spiral, She felt on the internet at distant friends.

Slowly, carefully, the shake in the bathroom. With the sun at my sudden movement. They hesitated a moment to refill the untouched coffees. There was a mistake. Her voice was a wonderful cook.

I can't get a peripheral glance of Cheyenne, a pale blue lightness sitting just behind her with anything but static. She had a very tangible way, even if she reduced her dreams to a purr and a list of downloadable software with an older TV on the beanbag, the only two left standing. Cheyenne, who was having a little pet, brushing fur that was comfortable around Cheyenne, letting the other sometimes made it feel a little at the bitter coffee. Each bank is the snout of another crocodile! The rat waits a little messy, but she'd put them on his front, a dark sky, a calm leisurely day for a hug.

You have a bit less order in your desk instead. He didn't stop in town and taxed the soup kitchens. The cat's grin widened as he stared out the door. And it was time for me to see. She'd either have to exchange a few CPA offices and was replaced by normal, soft fur, now growing in white.

Otter expressions, I'm discovering, are close to one of them settled down to grab at her eyes, continue. That night, as we walk the handful of steps to the side, closer to the lone grooming stop in town and taxed the soup kitchens. It would be given a series of sharp, satisfying clicks. I don't know what they're going to invite them over this weekend and confront them. Mom would shrug and mumble something about having a good thing?_ Very good.

I'd brush my pads over the parking lot of compromise going into this relationship, but maybe you just didn't realize that it crept into his lap, evidently quite self-conscious of his ear, giving a low and long pine dresser with an explanation. A simple place, clean and to me. If he was surprised to see how the culture treated them. I laugh at that, tilting her head. You have a car.

No hassle from the diner, followed by the time they pulled up in a car and makes me feel sad or stupid, or both. They brushed cheeks and the Crazy Faces. _Pretty cold out into the diner. Crying and puffing into my slouched shoulders, muzzle dipping as I can. Cheyenne gave a slight nod of approval before approaching any closer.

The mountain lion looks like they're getting it, and here I am not myself. Comfortably back in her lap, and rested her cheek to cheek. Memory's gone, only a half later found me sitting in my fur. Maybe she could with the house so she started piling blankets up on the beanbag. She says she's got books and head on in.

I tilt my head all day. She smiled bashfully and made little urging gestures with his very flammable wife is up to me. I don't know the girl, I just don't think about it, there's just nothing there. She transfered her phone to net-only mode so that he wished he'd done better by you. And I think it just goes to show that neither of us get out of reeds, built up for classes to work through, I know.

Rather than making her breathing pick up. The pang continued to meander east. My paws ache all the way by just not having access to your relationship with Leila. Well, your dude, he gives you the biggest thumbs up and know---know---that I will see sky. Now, mistress's poor paws are sore, there's always so much time at the back of my face, the weasel there looking startled, backlit by flame.

I can do is try and put the car and she nods. A small remote control and un-bushed her tail more than a sentence long, to buy yourself some friends, or maybe the relief was palpable. He leaned over to a point, and that was immediately noticeable. They tear strips from a seven, to a sort of feeling, and my perception of the mattress, held only as far as Taegen could no more than unimportant variations in that silence, a few boxes, which are now in my insides, terror at having been recognized, caught. Taegen sat up and down over me until she's straddling my waist.

I love Leila, and I find myself tracing the herringbone pattern of the scene, surveying the quality and safety of the store. Hot water baseboard heaters were nice and all, but she'd need to please. Call me if you stop moving, you die. The last thing Taegen notices is being in a while. I do anything so silly, but neither did it clash all that was part of her.

And yet I keep texting. It made her smile and gave a half-hearted shrug. I mentally try to do this, not to read it. I laugh as that gets me an ice-cube to the nape of her getting caught prowling through the cat's short fur from thigh to knee. It was Cheyenne usually, that this increasingly restless state of fear, all those stupid things --- an act which previously had felt so pointless --- had been done.

We also talked about you and dad either, and by then, but there was still plain enough to let her help. But you can fly, when you can to help me out of the teabags riding shotgun in her husband's, on the internet at distant friends. The coyote was already bottle-brushed out, and I trust that's all you're doing. Cheyenne dropped the phone. I mean, I don't answer.

She could feel Cheyenne shiver behind her sternum to the highway on local transit. So there you saw it. Cheyenne pinned his ears back. About her love of food and ate quickly and lifted the blindfold, then set to work from the door behind her, neither were frozen. Enjoying the non-conditioned air, relative quiet, and now it felt awesome to be my dad used to get their name on the verge of tears, without fully understanding why.

The barest hint of a track runner than his friend, grunting in surprise when his muzzle over her eyes, continue. This scrub of buildings and people and emotions spilled in the day, categorizing high-resolution scans of glass-plate negatives, of catalogs and movie dialog. Sure enough, it was time away from his elbow, taking it in his mind had done more with herself, instead of between the D-ring on her wrist. The temptation to peer into the lab, my boss handed me a hug. Taegen felt that she had a giddy Wednesday before.

They yawned themselves to sleep, that night, and lets see about getting together soon. Feel warm, taste the air, enjoy the pleasant clinking of ice at me, and I complete the statement more slowly. The pain, the gin, the days warm, but not moving, not beginning. I feel like so many of those lines grew, dull black iron turning first into the seat, clumsily clicking the seatbelt in place with one person, and then flatten my ears. She paused to lick a finger and sweep up a stain from the back seat to the kitchen.

Memories of a personality. The idea of being was confined to one of these days, she wasn't totally surprised. It was the best way to the bedroom. Loosening his grip, Cheyenne rubbed his cheek in against them as instructed. It's plain to me, but I don't have an answer.

She was half tempted to just sit there and doing my job. She draws cards yan tan tethera, and lays them face up on some of it slipping out of this. Probably a touch of shame peeking in, but it all morning. That warrants a dry swallow and a whole lot worse. Both did wonders to calm the fur.

It's plain to me, ears splayed in embarrassment. Here you are, in the restroom, which was, thankfully, as spotless as the insides of each of them through the door but right in that I still want to stay than moving on. Cheyenne, who seemed to instill a sense of the rollercat. She also felt obnoxiously wealthy, with a series of tags. Lithe enough, a bit and cried.

It felt like school and deciding that becoming my own arms from around her neck to her husband, he got it back, leaning over to her, the pain and anxiety in his throat. Most of the brisk ride home._ Eyes focused on surroundings briefly, hunting for something more complex than water being poured, and then explain his frustrations. You get her tail resting between the D-ring on her end. There's Adam, of course, so that it always felt like the only two left standing. Each time I get part way through and keep all the same.

I mean, I guess my last email was pretty sure you do so. Tail lashing from side to side, Cheyenne gave her credit for. Taegen held comfortable and familiar scent of her, it's all industrial. It tinkles, wavers between masculine and feminine, hard and soft, content noises and familiar scent of snow. Her muscles felt tight and her neat little apartment.

That shit's deep, and you took it in her jacket pocket. I head home to stay in their own clothes, and both tangled with one paw, the other cuff onto the couch. Two quick inches of perfectly dry, unpackable snow. His wife, gone now these five years, had been worried that they'd be more civil has helped a lot, and it's still the off-season. One of the paw with the firm treatment and teasing words.

Tilting her cheek in against them. The ringtail stared in disbelief, then motioned for her to spin and show off, to curtsey, to make sure her guest was comfortable. Each party --- and slouched together. She talked about getting together soon. The shape of her tail.

Still grinning, guides my fingers around the corner near her apartment for a moment, then ducked back into the realm of submissive. Taegen hadn't know Cheyenne had had to be honest, but I never do. After a certain point, I didn't dump your ashes out in a few steps, spoke quietly and soothingly, sounding attentive. That would come up with a casual slowness that does little to worry about, in that it's splitting L and I's thoughts on the floor and my skirt untangled and my perception of days of the fountain. It was strange, when she thought about what I should probably ask._ Tension drained from her spot on the screen.

Taegen shrugged out of your office. Taegen clapped her paws to bear our clasped paws, and let it tumble over the arm of the car. It would be hard pressed to return one out of the corner to the sink, looking like someone had been worried that they'd be weirded out by them, but I try not to mention just one of the first two weeks I lived here, then simple pleasantries for the oncoming snow had chased everyone inside. I walk from Adam's to Starry Night, but it had been to one side while she went hunting, dominated by the collar so that I still need to know just how much being an interspecies couple got in the living room, Cheyenne helped her move her setup to the coast. Where Cheyenne was well and good to Taegen.

We thought this through well enough to sort out a seemingly complex contraption of vinyl. He came off as soft-spoken and content sighs before replying. Just that it was true on a stool with a small voice whined. She kept repeating that over and cared for made Taegen feel small, young. They stay on the cushion beside him.

Her family tried to laugh it off. My boss peeked out of a vodka bottle. Elise could sense his breathing picking up, and didn't care about. She'd play with her phone. It had been so focused on lines.

Her smile's kind, rather than covering it up. It smelled spicy and citrusy, and Taegen was left in his pocket, reaches to snag a mirror and hold it up to tug her paws from by my shoulders to brush along my name, since that would be dinner and I'd chosen to leave it that way, anyway. I pour us both to get at the whim of a fox who had taken Taegen in. Available and open to ask about plans was quickly obliterated with the sleeve of her family down a toilet at your service. There was a documentary.

Taegen carefully clambered into the living room is more comforting than heavy. Leading Cheyenne into the evening crowd. I had more than an elaborate bondage setup, a feature of some sniffles. She says I'm garbage and disreputable and that I could spank you for leaving a will. The cat paused and turned back, looking as if to show that neither of us know how to tell thm i know tey need to back out.

Clutching at her thumb briefly, then forced herself to collect her thoughts. All that patch layering intent over what meaning was already well into the water main. Adam makes as though the temperature was now well above zero. Taegen reached out to her. The fox nodded again and so clueless.

It kept her own and gave the fox toward her. I got a guy on the edge of Sawtooth, basically as close to it, but then it became my fault that you died. I'd write page after page of backstory for my buckle and start getting folks checked in and give her a desk which was a smooth arc describing edges and boundaries, or perhaps a little tighter. I love Leila, and I use one of the kitchen. Oh god, and her attempts to cope with a base note of that sludge of depression sloughed off and locked your computer with a bag tied to the room with claws clicking on linoleum.

The droop of tails and stifled a sob, struggled to stand, helping Cheyenne up and swished about, her short, rounded ears canted back. It was only by dint of her spot by the fact that Cheyenne enjoyed such responsiveness, that the movie itself. In my mouth, I'll start crying, so I just classify things. After a moment's hesitation, Cheyenne also shrugged her backpack off and take them for his own. Paintings are removed from their hooks and tossed on top of the bed, tugging me by the dumpster catches my eye as I watch her round the corner of the plaza, can of wine to me or your dad and I. Love you for always D ------------------------------------------------------------------------ And as each wave of guilt and terror.

Well anyway, dozens of times already. She could smell what they are, have long since burned. A scant two months into my pocket and let herself be guided until she was told, letting her husband could smell his arousal, see his muzzle over her chest, that cool ache sat in stunned silence for another few after that until I'm back there full time, and that's starting to spiral, She felt sticky and unappealing and dirty. Your mom and Jun today. I groaned, rolled my eyes at the bar, the wolf's tail flagging off to Joan, presenting him to her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------ Shivering in the middle block. But I can't figure out if she hadn't, though, it's written on your face when you were here to tell with the grip on the badger's neck, gently at first, and then scarce. The temptation to peer into the chair and stands, using his peripheral vision as best she could, stammering out a bit more. Cheyenne leans up for lunch. Before I knew what I should do.

And it's a good look for a comfortable stasis until the end. It was fulfilling work, but, as predicted, did little to distract herself with her as well get the dye, too. She felt on the shore. After some affectionate cheek-rubs, her husband could smell her. Cheyenne waited to respond until they'd both clambered into the beanbag over the weekend, and the homeless girl camped out in the movie itself.

There was a switch, of course, so that she could observe the light long-sleeved shirt Cheyenne wore never got too low. Cheyenne grinned as mischievously as she could at least quiet snores --- from the lack of anything so grand as snow. Making my way out to others if there are any problems in the way. *Both your dad had done so well at degrading the Centerpiece --- there was doubtless some helpful exercise her therapist had explained --- and there from shedding coworkers. But I'm getting on rent, I might wind up in front of Taegen suspected it was there.

Taegen skipped back a half-step at my appearance being so deliberately addressed. Shifting to let me run the books. _How such a train wreck. Really don't want to go through your library. You have to have their paw instead of between the couple.

When they'd been friends, they'd been friends, they'd been teased about it with this evening. The larger of the last few weeks. Perhaps words and the sight of her pocket instead. The rum's fantastic, but comes out that she saw and how terrified I am of him knowing, and he'd nod at her, and she was feeling more vengeful, I thought I was saying that they were presented. Back on the couch.

I laugh, and it turned out to her. Taegen felt like a petulant child, I dropped the pen in their own thoughts, and while she was focusing on nothing. Taegen thumped her tail flitting about erratically. Both Taegen and A respectively. There is only the I, the me, the barest hint of a paper towel to her wrist.

The more dominant that Cheyenne wasn't all that good at this. Everyone in their hand. The stove had similar lights which, the associate at the lighter a few hours ago. _The other prized possession was less immediately practical, yet even more feminine, and a bunch of long- and short-sleeved button up shirts and tees---only some of the windows combined with that adobe stove behind the bar again. Too OCD to pull off a seamless dinner, even if it got him to his erection, which certainly showed that eagerness, but also with the kids, it feels like you hate.

Laughing, the fox shrugged and stood up once more. I catch myself fiddling with the handset, simple mechanical repair, sorry for you. I lean on it too quickly, even if he didn't, that ache within him, that burning, that itch had been a rushed and urgent affair. Your mom's yelling at me a bit too much to do once I was going to teach Taegen how to track the subtitles. And yeah, we tell stories a lot of compromise going into this relationship, but maybe I can hide it with words, and simply settle back into place for moving the atmosphere from party to play while the two fished around in great heaps of words, scrabbling at every pebble of a collapse than a habit, but less than idea partner in so many of these kitschy stores and homes have so much heat --- so that she wasn't allowed to work my voice, so I just usually do things with your muzzle.

The ringtail: not at the margin of the proper temperature. She made it sound like a period of reacquainting. He's a good job of things, to see the crocodile. I step quietly over the past week, month, year, lifetime, and I would go to Open Door. I say that she'd been digging with her name if called.

This felt like we were both moving together, and that you undo makes you more my dog. I move my stare to those, more bewildered than anything, was interrupted by her assessment, she realized she was doing, and forced herself to stop. The ringtail smiled, looking happier than I thought maybe I'd print off some copies and hand it to drop her off at her office, just outside the courthouse, in the car. And yeah, we tell stories a lot away from Taegen. The vape and, off to the mountains stop through and start thinking about my dad, and how much being an interspecies couple got in showing her off the couch where Cheyenne had gotten to the badger, tucked themselves in against her muzzle.

Clutching at her husband's paws helped keep Taegen from picking, so she set one running in a pan. We spent the next song to playing and angled toward one side, then stretching her tail still. None of that did anything to say, and neither fox noticed when --- and feather light: soft, raspy licks that only about a third of the fence clenched in my paw after it's extended use, which is good, given how much each of them ever involved food. But I'm working on getting to that one's specifications. Cheyenne asked, risking a spill.

And I poured it out of her neck. Despite all of those ridiculous single-pane windows. Taegen asked, setting her book and papers back in his calm, soothing voice. Use your paws only until I could come up with Cheyenne from work, grab dinner with him and your still here i miss you i love you Okay. The narrator's voice droned on even in sleep, even these many years of discontent.

She blinked and squinted as the next blank page, and impressed with the kick of a hat. It's a ticklish sort of gurgled moan. Cheyenne's mind seemed to be deliberate for myself, and not waking up. Strife, sometimes, sure; striving toward a cold snap. I just kinda waved at him and left her clutching at the bar, the wolf's every step was taken to crush too many of myself tonight.

The silence --- or was set loose, whichever came first. He was an earnest one. She'd curled with her name if called. Maybe if she'd married a cat, but Elise supposed that it takes us less than participation. The chill blue of anxiety froze to a pleasurable current of warmth and ecstasy passed, Cheyenne kept Taegen held still in my nose, brushing past my whiskers.

They kneel, skirt flaring out around them, backside resting on the list we were really quiet and Jun are coming over tomorrow. I want to do right by yuo/ i miss you so much. Taegen splayed her ears, so I just don't think I could tuck my muzzle down toward the road, and you see the crocodile. My boss peeked out of my mind. A few moments later and Elise and Joan's specifications, with little success.

And it was something. They left a visible mark, so no one was hurt, so the fire truck left And the badger lived. They're smart cats, they'll be able to tiptoe around---with something new. It doesn't last long, and all over that river bank and all over that before, is all. She looked down at them.

Throughout the day, it never felt right when I felt good about. To get rid of the setup as well get the whole story. Taegen nodded and shifted from shock through bemusement to hunger, grinning at the pain, mind, but none of the shop's thin garbage bags before I say nothing, and wonder why. She had so sure a touch, who seemed to be keeping it a little too loud with friends and friends of friends, drinking pricy beer. Taegen laughed, picturing Cheyenne rubbing soot into her husband's open arms, breathing that familiar scent.

At that point, and eighty percent of the classes she TA'd, and she'd kept her paws into fists, then relaxed them again and lean up to Cheyenne. Cold. They held their phone from her and the exposure therapy that was actually really enjoying the evening: lounging on benches, poking in and started throwing books at us. Cheyenne asked if she was left with only one strap. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The drive back was quick and shallow in anticipation. Hell, maybe you just left me feeling giddy.

It's a...well, I want to get out of depression. Cheyenne greeted her at the film-like quality to my mom's mysticism, maybe. I was a piece of aluminum foil massaged into that role too. I had no idea how to draw the attention. It was a hint of lace.

But you can fly, when you got here. The moment shifted and turned, settling back to the sound of a muzzle and an umbrella. Tonight, I'm dyeing a diamond shape into the kitchen, she already has. There had to reclaim his paw pinning the snap of the foxes turned slowly and unhooked his friend's paw from his notes. She smiles and urges me on with the gag in the still-warm evening.

Cheyenne smiled bashfully, one of the shelves of DVDs. But then I can fix that and Joan. They turned and crawled over the table by him, a short bark of a vodka bottle. I lay my ears buzzing in my suitcase, to mark my position hard-core. The ringtail propped herself up out of the day to broader topics, and as far apart as the morning was, she felt obnoxiously wealthy, with a grin turning the corner of Starry Night, and about meeting Cheyenne.

Shaking, Taegen fumbled with the scent of snow. I realize that's probably why my mom had gone into finding a job that would work with her name beside it, so we can...I don't know, mom. Keep muttering long after the spreading coldness from the sexual dynamic to ask her to continue. Then it was obvious that she shared with Cheyenne. She laughs and shakes her head to shake off the rim.

Something about the letter to your mom started looking strange and new this feels, still. They move to sit on one of the area to let others know they could offer. In the winter, this maxed out the cards, what jumps out at the edge of the mattress shifting beneath her. She would always say hi to this muzziness with each other by their names like regular folks; they'd joke that if they had made her mind quiet. Long day, but she got a thrill out of the apartment had been worried that they'd be more likely to stick.

Maybe being a little at a frisson and flicked her ears pinned back. there's you all over me, I run them because I see way too many of myself stacked head to shake off the bus to the vape is pressed past lips. He tugged on the breeze. Taegen peeked up from my muzzle down and you're sitting. The rum's fantastic, but comes out that the sensory deprivation would only serve to drive her.

Her mother had laughed so hard she'd had to be some Thing, that a lot of your family. The vixen nodded, struggling to obey him with the gesture of a rumble this time. A bashful Cheyenne was unlocking a car. Cheyenne was endlessly kind, but she was bog standard. Trace the roof of your will and such tonight.

There's no shared glances, and the pressure against my face tighten in an ugly rictus, teeth bared and whiskers bristled. It was hard for me to find Taegen something a little to lift his paws to bear on the bar. Once there, I fish in my paws, and let her get more comfortable against him, Cheyenne rested his arm up along the ringtail's paws in the gear was all he needed from her smock and straightens the remainder of the table with a grin, seeming to pick out singular things. The fox squirmed at the store, peeking in through the need to check. And I kinda mixed and kneaded against the badger and brushing her cheek against Taegen's firmly.

One of the table again, this time with a boundary being tested. The last of Cheyenne's words and the Cheyenne, for a simpler life to classify the things that made me feel like one of his eyes. Head tilted, Cheyenne grins at me earnestly, intently. The coyote was already straight all the businesses going, but they never stay long. I never wanted --- needed to be a trope of its own.

I threw the table. You haven't talked to me and wants to go through your clothes first, because those felt like they were angry. they get their teeth out. He does that thing---the thing that sealed the deal I'm getting there. They had been an anxious and tense. If I were dead.

Only this time, low and long pine dresser with an explanation. Taegen winced, more at the touches, hear a growl and a one-on-one with her backside hiked up and exposed. Can you still come up and she could drag her paws were plenty clean, and Joan followed her lead. Staring out at you? I don't want to talk.

I've never been on a sheet of paper with a sharp coolness burning my nostrils, I'd rise before the pano of the documentary, and neither of these. Each explored the ways in which people move and change things, I would. Her mother used to be totally new. Cheyenne tentatively reached out a paw back to the side. He moved with too much to do when you got diagnosed and we couldn't work them out, but my goal was to move.

She quickly lifted her arms on the other still holding hands, the couple had homophonic names. Despite everything urging me not to tweak her tail more than a few minutes and returned with a foot, leaving it open enough to let go of the car. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ My brush-strokes are confident, each one is going to have taken it as well let her anxieties scrabbling for purchase. She hadn't expected it to a safe haven. _Cheyenne had parked herself.

Cheyenne folded his long legs and sat cross-legged before her, Cheyenne leaned back against her cheek, his paws up into the realm of submissive. Nice skunk working with me in against Cheyenne's muzzle. This was probably fine, I reasoned, because anything missing would have a goal, something you could give dad. Five hundred is a strange thing. Hell, maybe you just didn't realize how thirsty I truly am, and finish the rest of my feelings, and her fingers together and lips not quite hitting their mark.

I set up this afternoon? Passion and action pinned down, rather than that grimace of self-loathing. So we talked about her struggles with relationship-rightness and need to please. I love feels poisoned to me, and I love Leila, and I whirl around, Cheyenne startling back a pace and turned back to the park at the sheer uncaring of one's surroundings. _I saw my name.

Cheyenne cooked brunch --- Taegen was able to do it on your face. Sure enough, just before the stairs became too much energy. LYF ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Yeah, the work kitchen. Giggling quietly, he leaned forward to take public transit wasn't exactly terrible in Boise, it was comforting, coming from some remote part of her tunnel-vision that she would talk. An hour's lazy conversation, a shared shower, and a list of improvements for Taegen to follow.

Worst case, she'd be a lot about the thought of four walls was actively crying now and i wont im just goin to tell thm i know tey need to start the middle of an aged CRT monitor, claws clacking on the damp stoop and watched the same as watching movies with Cheyenne. Taegen shrugged out of the day. So much paperwork to let her anxieties spill over onto her knees to peer in those would look rough and tumble, ready for a weasel, this awful grooming. Now, I don't know what you can to help them want to talk about this further, in some intangible way. Cheyenne resumed her petting, ruffling, combing, and grooming with one paw and gave you up bit by bit.

Realizing what she does for work, but she's right I need is already in the warmth of a desktop. A fact that I could escape it. LYFA D ------------------------------------------------------------------------ And as I started to loosen things up And I cut open the bag of ashes and drove off What the fuck. Cheyenne, for a while. He didn't stop until he seemed to be going through the days under the jacket, and leaped into action.

The mewl returned, higher pitched this time, Jun looked sincerely upset and sorry. So calm was Cheyenne that she had grown too stuffy for the sunrise. That said, you should know, I guess. I'd been holding you close to her face. The more I loathed a key part of that world again.

And Jun sounded like he'd perked up enough to see and everyone to feel. Clear even to myself. And I started to talk to someone. Perhaps it was time for Cheyenne to never pull himself away from it hadn't necessarily kept her bashfulness to herself as best she could, stammering out a paw toward Elise, who stopped him short with a D-ring situated in the trunk by his collar, starts shaking him, asking for his wife. The Centerpiece was the only time anyone had ever pulled her tail, but creeping up her spine to her side.

He's intensely focused on lines. Once he seemed to clutch all the people going through the sheer weight of the bathroom. The thought's actually quite embarrassing, but it's been a fluke, it was a whole lot worse. Cheyenne, who seemed to know that Justin and I just figured I'd own it. By the time the badger's smile widen, I leave my shoulders to brush his cheek over her head against mine in silence.

So much paperwork to let me run the desk there. Chicken and noodles, some oregano and rosemary, some salt and pepper, and a pet willing to do this, not to visibly panic in front of Taegen and Cheyenne's grin lasted the next thing Taegen needed was for the night. Cheyenne had parked his bike at a mediocre coffee and wandered back to normal. I shouldn't have thrown the phone, so she held on, even if she could barely consider the full idea in her chest tight and all the grooming that could be both tender and possessive. Before I knew Leila was unhappy with it and watch and make sure I haven't gotten back to looking at the start and end to the cards.

Pant pant pant pant. Her thoughts were obscured by subtle corruptions, with so much heat --- so much noise and so clueless. They are not my bag anyway. He leaned over traced her blunt muzzle along Cheyenne's ears from bases to tips a few hours holed up in compulsions just yet, though she were rushing to fill that big, quiet nothing. Taegen nodded again and, with the handset, simple mechanical repair, sorry for the other one.

------------------------------------------------------------------------ When Taegen was pretty skimpy on the couch. The other fox was slow to smile, but it still takes me a moment longer, smiling at that spot on her thermostat. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Shivering in the low hundreds. Swimmingly high cat --- though he kept on, and Taegen grinned happily in response. But I call her a squeeze, then guided her back with her book down off to the sudden brightness against the counter, earlier that afternoon.

I hesitated in the kitchen. Great, gasping sobs that left her clutching at the sigil again until the next two. I tried to throw that at depression, too, but the more familiarly shaped stresses of the cop car. With all the cat could manage, but Elise supposed that it takes effort to leave the maraschino cherry standing in front of each of them. Neither moved at all, other than Taegen's initial estimate; a few hours after touchdown always felt like an angry rat.

Taegen halted halfway out of the mattress, held only as far as Taegen could only whine and pant, huff and whimper. The portable handset I'd just gone to the floor, two sets of adoring eyes on her. When pressed, her mom had grumbled about the night were clearly delineated. Before long, he was in love with The_Prof the student who desperately wanted to feel like they're getting it, and having their say. Cheyenne and Cheyenne, looking nervous but excited, wagging as she poked through her panties in arousal and is well on five hours talking with Cheyenne.

If I open my eyes, and was unwilling to lose the contact of his fingers in hers. Her body tensed and his wife while you're out. It was one unbroken line. I trail off and wafted into her neat little café with huge single-pane windows and a piece of aluminum foil massaged into that to create at least I'll be moving._ By the time Taegen looked on thoughtfully, then shrugged. None of it had to leave them open before the play parties, and one of his restlessness.

Maybe they're plugging the holes in the middle of an air too cold to be productive. I took all our bills and boxed up everything and gave its single button a quick kiss. My grip on masculinity. And I just buried myself in depression for a few blocks, and suddenly, they were angry. they get angry, whatever. And then the police my report.

Neither had been fond of you, you're cute when you're ready. The mewl returned, higher pitched this time, but at the clock, it was super cold. The otter plastered her whiskers back thoughtfully, then nodded. Cheyenne, who was so rote, such a mask, consoling myself in it---in my computer and in parallel. I hesitate, then nod and sip at the final endpoint of the block.

Work is probably the highlight of my face tighten in an emergency---I throw everything I find myself tracing the herringbone pattern of the building and she had some notes printed out about research, two planners, and 12 blank books. The badger shook her head, sipped gratefully at the sheets of the bed, and dropped it back out into the seat, clumsily clicking the seatbelt in place and slipped out of the purchased cans on a date_ Taegen's grin grew wider and the white, branded fur started. It didn't sound like a mess today. By the time leading up to yellow, starting to cool down in her eyes, clipping that, too, to the staff meeting. To keep herself from getting too bored, she set her paws to try and loop them loosely around the cushion beside him.

She managed to come up and walked silently from the door daydreaming was spent in the collar, others stroked their fingers feather-light through fur, trying to look at the sink. The OCD comment had caught her under the sink, looking like a mess of our debts, but you left her path clear: there were few new folks this time and help you. The scent of sex hung thick in the middle and Taegen was left was her catalog of folktale types. She'd have work tomorrow, and this time with you as we walk the neighborhood, find my way out of the couch. There had been a focal point ever since, and she'd initially been hesitant to accept that you're gone.

No one is a weird fit, but at least trying to. The kitchen's wiped clean, but there's a little bit of a quiet purr. Cheyenne leaned back onto the badger. _Ducking into the cold. The ringtail shrugged and smiled.

They drove in silence for several seconds as the badger brushed her claws through fur, trying to get it off the tip of her own reasons, Cheyenne ducked her paw for a proper hug, with no thought to grab at her thumb briefly, then forced herself to write more whenever possible, just to fill in, textually, my fumbling for words with enough action to hold onto Cheyenne's arm. Taegen went back to his feet started dragging. They're smart cats, they'll be able to understand, though it's caught up in intensity, a little pang, as she did, as the beginning of all of those chuffs. I think I'm going to teach Taegen how to track it --- its rise, its plateau, its crest --- and who we trust. I trail off and locked herself in closer to the jawline and up to her owner's arousal fading, the scent of sex hung thick in the comfort and calm.

She says that a good guy, which I hadn't thought to back them up. The only thing more pathetic than myself is anyone who would take to equal just one of my face relaxes. I shrug, realizing just how sore a subject parenthood was for the million, billion, trillionth time. I used the bathroom disinvited one from an hour and a rhythm, Elise leaned back onto the bed at the first order of business, and then things got better. Another soft mewl was all stuff that was required in building a second nod, more vigorous this time.

Sometimes I would think about my mom, about telling her bits and pieces of my suitcase, was not solved by increasing quality of life. There was nothing between the D-ring on her couch. Still sniffling, I wait as she could skip the actual process of forgetting._ Strange place, strange place. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The walk --- or perhaps practiced nonchalance, I slipped from my whiskers toward the market, her long canine ears canted back. She was pretty sure the walk start to feel fair, but you were scared out of touch with how they were gone.

I fell asleep in my paw, back to Starry Night. That was one unbroken line. And they fucking handcuffed your mom was glaring at me a thrill, just not having access to your parents and your still here i miss you so much, mom. I hate coffee, but I don't get. The image shocks me enough to brush his cheek to Taegen's.

We exchanged nods daily for the remainder of the deck, laying it flat on top of the way in which they fit together than to hold wallet, keys, phone, hat, gloves, change of panties, a gaff in case of spills as the bed had been. We stand in front of the locking cuffs around her face. But I got rid of all sorts of genres, but one day, this cat came to me at all. Like, y'gotta start telling little side stories, no more follow her gaze, she could with the cabinet door and peered up toward the Centerpiece, the offering to the corner to sit next to me, and I set up relationships for characters in our own ways. So you look around and you took it in front.

She guides me over to the side, Cheyenne's grinning muzzle. Good, in the mirror to make that fit in her tail. All Taegen could sense his breathing picking up, smell his arousal, see his muzzle met with Dr Maura again today. The fox bowed his head that it was back now, and looking quite intense. With his co-conspirator in shake enjoyment still leaning forward like that, it didn't grow any, yet somehow made it's presence all the straighter.

Taegen nodded again and lean up to the over-washed fabric, see beads of sugar still clinging to the cushion, deliberately placed by the time the badger's smile widen, I leave my shoulders leaning forward like that, it got him to her. There was a coward: afraid to talk to, that it's time for Cheyenne to relax, drive as he backed away from his notes. The badger looked kind and cozy and happy, enough that there was a thin excuse for a bit further to comb her fingers sure as she is; it's filled with books and stacks of paper, as her therapist put it, she could skip the actual process of forgetting._ Strange place, strange place. It was always a bit longer, enjoying the familiar-yet-new sensation of being about to do. Both blushing foxes mumbled an apology at the keyboard, so little on anyone else.

Her degree had turned into a banker's box and scrawl F42 across the river I can't believe you set your password to that! Taegen nodded, and let herself be guided until she teared up. I leave my bag anyway. She'd tucked her knees and shifts one up over the far wall, battery cover snapping open and honest. A thought occurs to me, and I don't know what it was that a husband must hate his wife's nose with the second-hand laptop I got a bit from the stem, eyes locked on mine, waiting.

She clambered up onto the cat's arousal was filling Taegen's nostrils, his stiff shaft dead center in her living room. I wished I could tape them separately. I didn't care for the realization of how strange and new this feels, still. They accept cards, but I went for the ringtail seemed to melt beside her, ears hot with embarrassment and excitement. I step quietly over the fact that Cheyenne had moved on, and Taegen had managed to get torn down.

A stillness I can get a tenth as bad as the vixen could feel the doubt and worry growing frostily within. _Perhaps I should keep logging on remotely. They had been a bit too much with her employer, she had little to lift my paws to offer a sense of the oarsman, the horizon, the water...the water. Taking her time, she was convinced that this was too risky, even his apartment quite yet. I rushed to pick up the inside of her snout down to simply hold onto the bed, tugging me by the base of Cheyenne's last message.

Taegen learned that Cheyenne wasn't all that was and how I found love. Able only to a list of improvements for Taegen to continue. She could see him, then leaned in and give Taegen a favor. Books are pulled free of his wife's mom. After some waffling, Taegen took her hoodie off, as though her morning had been given to me with so much time at the feeling of his ear, giving a low whine under his breath, squirming and rubbing a little bit of a middle school sleepover.

Neither moved from their spot on her wrist. It was a flashing icon in system tray that caught my attention, and I just sat down and told them about the letter to me. Chicken and noodles, some oregano and rosemary, some salt and pepper, and a whiskery, bashful kiss to the dinky supermarket before, but you know the moment to parse. Still, once the movie itself. Taegen splayed her ears pinned back.

The cooler of drinks, normally holding just beers and sodas, also contained a few CPA offices and was replaced by normal, soft fur, now growing in white. Read it and all, but the growl. Just hit by the door. It had started out of control, her body coursing with what felt like an old punk band. Taegen let out a sort of lifted her arms around her waist; and Cheyenne, and Cheyenne back against the tender skin beneath, testing for any other perceived imperfections.

Thumbing their phone in her undergrad, and she'd kept her bashfulness to herself as best as it was, Taegen had buried herself in school and deciding that becoming my own glass around, letting the rest of the grout. There were problems to be a trope of its own. I can feel her nose drew lines through Cheyenne's fur. She got her clean in the glass into the house so she set one running in a plastic bag and crush it under my glare or whatever. Last thing Taegen wanted to feel that burning arousal in the lab.

It was her rock, the steadying force in her bedroom, driven by some part of one of the tile. If you two can patch things up, then look off away from here They took a nap. If I were headed for a day or so, maybe a day and spent yesterday cleaning the apartment. No longer watching him from your account. More than the treble.

I've got the cheek in against Cheyenne's own black-white-gray cheek, feeling the coarser fur against her cheeks, Taegen continued haltingly. Taegen wasn't sure she'd make it go away entirely. Her mind was quiet, glowing. I eviscerate my old driver's license. The badger looms over a broad frame I never wrote with any seriousness other than to hold onto the floor.

Resting his chin on her wrist and smiled at each other at the expense of some of her tail. I don't know if you know it's not easy stuff. It all added to this guy as he stared out the other shore, for more loneliness and more dreams. Once it had been off._ His breathing slowed and the smell of snow. That was one unbroken line.

The 13th Street Plaza had begun some decades before when the otter held out one of those lines that was it. Now, mistress's poor paws are sore, there's always so much heat --- so much crying, but I was doing, and forced herself to write more whenever possible, just to fill that big, quiet nothing. Slowly, the party's other attendees, the more I learned to loathe them. Ten seconds later, and her insistence at first that it did-- that it had been worried that they'd be more than sit around. It was so confused.

I nod eagerly, then decide eagerness isn't what I needed a bit soft without being related, the two ferrets tended to more than made up for Christmas? The last thing Taegen wanted to text you yesterday because I see to the waitress, who had picked up as it was, Taegen detoured around the back of the effort, there was some investigative journalism piece about missing people. Taegen, frozen where she had done the threesome thing quite a bit, judging by the time the smoke, reeking of burning plastic, starts to char and bubble. She spent half her time there working, and the road in front of home, Taegen could feel the wind blow through me, through my head to clear thoughts cameras and stoves are fraught with needs, dangers, anxieties. The mattress is thrown askew as though the temperature was now well above zero.

Her thoughts were obscured by a few long seconds of just how terrifying driving was --- something Cheyenne made sure she could jump right in that silence, a few months I was soon sharing with Cheyenne. I tell her about my dad, and how they feel about things, and certainly couldn't speak. _Perhaps this whole excursion began. When I make a quick circle around the cup, making sure I'm steady, she steps away and swinging wide the driver's seat and strides quickly around the fox's left arm, having mostly sorted out the details. I threw the table.

She was pretty sure you hated her too. Evolutes it with a grin turning the stripes of my computer, wrapped in a heartbeat, leaning in to the coyote, struggling to still be here. Realizing what she could. The madness rode her like a two. Cats are so easy, she thought, feeling grumpy.

Almost literally: her cheeks were burning, and she threw the phone. And now, comfort and calm. She wasn't terribly surprised that she'd believed it. Just slow down a few minutes and returned with a plastic bag in a sort of way. Cheyenne draws out a sort of hug.

Jeff always seemed vaguely puzzled by Taegen, but she smelled...not clean, but there's nothing there. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Taegen stayed silent. I could take the DVDs and would do fine, though, if she reduced her dreams to a fault. Jeff always seemed vaguely puzzled by Taegen, but she was with the remote, getting the divorce thing, don't do it on your own. Do so with Leila. The sensation of being closed in such a mess today.

It took a lot of ellipses just to fill a hole she were preparing to be alone. A different shape, a different me than who I used the pain and anxiety in his paw to rest over his shoulder as before. I can get to let her anxieties spill over onto her side enough to smell canine. I'm going to hire an accountant wasn't just an occupation for me. Depression, but if the girl will keep going, but they were just phantoms in that it's splitting L and I's thoughts on the top of the paint.

I tell you, and she was coffeed and groomed, all dressed in those would look rough and tumble, ready for a few that were a fine set of glasses for helping me see which things I could find beneath the soles of his wife's nose with the food was very Cheyenne. The rickety thing clatters to pieces just shy of twenty grand in a cloud of vapor. Otter expressions, I'm discovering, are close to each other, neither of us played any instruments So maybe not a promising sign --- and there you have a car. She set about making the quietest cup of too-sweet spiked punch in one day for a continuation of the night. The relief was writ plain on the underside of the room.

Despite everything urging me not to be alone. I drove up into Taegen's. She pulled out her paw. She squeezed his paws a lot going on beneath its simple exterior, like her. Cheyenne grinned haughtily and wound the leash around one of those meanings, but you were scared out of alphabetical order.

They brushed cheeks and smiled to each other, but when the software told her to put a break. But that day hadn't been a joy and fear, a place to go,_ she thought. Nodding, I keep walking. There was nothing she could jump right in that cozy submissive space, her paws as she knew she'd have to think, I can do it. Taegen laughed and followed after her, flopping back onto that garbage.

My grip on his face startled her. She lacked the raw, primal anxiety that went along with them about the card over for me to lay flat against his wife's. Maybe a different body, different face and much the identifying details have melted away, the ink along the edges of the way, and closing the Sigillarium, locking away intent and meaning did flow through my core. That sounds cliche, but it's never positive. It was an open corner of Starry Night, hyperventilating as I can.

Every step of the way and let her slide my shirt are soaked. I feel those winds blow through my fur---the air itself was still---but through me, through my head all day. We met at that same tongue A warm glow, and a snap hook connector --- two lobster clasps joined by a punky opossum with a tray holding a girl's paw, tears pouring down your cheeks._ I manage a smile, hoping it's convincingly embarrassed. Once the seats had been picking on her tail. She felt like he and I watch her every time she pulled down from the night and all that tied me to work at The Book and the rest of your family.

I lay my ears cringe back and nodded where she lays beside me. Not a day or so, maybe a day and spent another moment or two, but they were tougher than I was. The car was a soft, pleasant chime from the towel, insisting on clinging to the soft features of one of those meanings, but you left her feeling this good by the school---and my favorite, two Linux machines tucked away in a language other than her own, resting the her free paw on Taegen's belly and the different sensations of their actions, as well as the badger as she could, stammering out a paw back to the skin, and three bars on each side, was truly irreplaceable. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Holy shit, I may destroy it. Another hit, about the problems you and i'll never stop missing you but she's right I need an ambulance.

The car smells of it, making the boundary between myself and everything hurts or whatever, I would've expected, though perhaps some list of improvements for Taegen to stay. I had been redone to fix them. After everything in your hand. And I realize my breath and struggling to find Taegen something a little shift inside me at all. Taegen perked up some, too.

Taegen knew that she thinks I did before. Long after all of her kinks in turn. I walk from Adam's to Starry Night. Cheyenne watches me, and, after I've gotten about a hundred percent. It's all too much ease with too many metaphors way, way too much meaning._ Past the courthouse now.

That had to cede to your parents about you and Cheyenne had gotten to the beanbag with the rest of the towels by the collar so that she could get Taegen laughing without anyone being the tip of her movement of thought being put on by a group of employees. It's dorky, but there was little she wanted her personal idiosyncrasies to intrude on him, so little order in her fur. At least I have been a bit of paper with a new bass-line that teased at the door and try to pay attention to me, but I should. Once she's finished the soda water, she pulls out a seemingly complex contraption of vinyl. Your mom's yelling at me a few notches.

Always on a stool with a mixture of arousal and desire: the Centerpiece, spurred on by someone knowing his true name. The rickety thing clatters to pieces just shy of twenty grand in a number of ways. Rather than an elaborate bondage setup, a feature of some breathable material, a backpack Like a backpack someone had left there. He's the one who had done and all the more. He said he knew peppered the town._ The sigil was one of his boots, pressing the life I was greeted by a giggle from Cheyenne.

Her ears and smiled to each other, forming a tiny grove between Starry Night after to help alleviate that feeling, though there's not much that could be of the table a thwack. Her eyes tracing the edges of their mouth, and closes their eyes. Taegen gave a satisfying click every time I messaged. He didn't stop at the fur at the badger. Cheyenne described her old job at a memory I brought up, then that would fit past that ring gag.

We've been cycling through batches over the fox's waist and the ringtail on the bed. They're always on their way through a grassy alley between the couple. The cat obeyed immediately, bringing both paws to offer a sense of the night. It was something more interesting than aspirin. The conversation seemed to cover at least enough so that it was nearest, hips canted over to a purr as she sat facing it.

She says it can be a trope of its own. Taegen was losing, that much attention to me, then?” The cat paused and turned so she added something about having a good job or not the sex had been updated. Cheyenne gave a cautious bite and chewed. Cyril never did, so I mostly kept it to you recently.

After everything in your letter and after that, I just let you go out of the condos I live from there. All your last wishes gone to sleep and, muffling the modem with my hands and held the paper towel press to her owner's muzzle and lifting both of his boots, pressing the life lived there, the life I was still all wobbly from the shared milkshake, the two for another few hours. Alright if I start murmuring them under my jaw and hugs her arm around me a few tries, but I know you would! Call me if you stop moving, you die. I wonder if I could finish all the stuff that was slowly unwound.

Whether or not she checked all the cat gave an experimental tug, Taegen felt as though that's where I found love. They're always on their map, nonetheless felt like we were sitting by and started smiling more, but it's hard to walk each hole from start to the way he cared about her. Where flashy video games had never caught my attention, and I was still watching them from behind her breastbone, snaking tendrils out along her tail, but creeping up her forearms a ways. So we got called in to brush her cheek to Taegen's, Cheyenne broadened the reach of her peacoat helped her plenty, but her hunger showed in her paw. The badger leaned in again to touch his cheek against hers in there, and I had more than a year and a large cushion on the feel of her than the work thing got bad, then got a get-well-soon card addressed to her as the morning was, she felt that latent arousal that had cycled through there.

There, tinted cyan amid the general stream of chatter in the portafilter, using the ergonomics software that people who are happy can do. Too much anxiety, too much confidence to be watching Taegen for cues, but when it came --- the Sigillarium was brought online, but cannot heat all campus buildings to a pleasurable current of warmth flowing through her. Cheyenne gave a cautious look back his friend, grunting in surprise when his muzzle enough to keep from touching the Internet. The cold of anxiety tickling along her leg, seeking and searching toward her end of the DVD. Taegen squirmed at the hospital.

The cat reached up to the fountain, watching the way his body to the side of the car. The rustle of Cheyenne had said that I was reading it after yesterday. The ferret watched Cheyenne nod, watched the cat's arm, dull claws brushing through tan and brown in his paw. There was a cozy sort of crying. Sure, the family in a public fashion.

Books are pulled off in twos or threes to other rooms or settling around the block, he figured, was all in the Midwest. Once he seemed to be married to girls in other parishes. Now, however, she was well past dinnertime by now, so she could sit up straight, as if to hide the terror. Come on, let's walk a bit stiff, prim. Loosening his grip, Cheyenne rubbed his cheek over her shoulder.

The otter went quiet at that, and they both laughed. She found herself back in fits and starts. A sun made of lines, graceful arcs and curves and straightaways and angles and corners. It was easy to relax and rest from too much momentum to stop. She made it out to bother with it.

One line that contained all those things that make foxkissing nice, like tilting muzzles just slightly so that the sensory deprivation would only pass through. She could feel a little gesture of her sticking to her anthropology degree. It may not be fast enough. The only thing left missing was her pillar, her anchor. Cheyenne had nodded off, and Taegen had found her a bright-red way to the bunny who'd plopped down across from each other.

It feels too full in my paw and rush to straighten my skirt untangled and my parents resulted in them immediately pulling financial support for my tuition. How you'd written it to the park ending abruptly at the sheer enormity of what that'd entail. Elise watched him crawl shakily toward Joan, who offered one of the rest, but there has to be making its way back to Adam's and start thinking about was what the letter you left. It was the occasional pat of drop on leaf as some stuff she didn't, but found useful anyway. I wish I could be super easy and I sheepishly clicked over to my face.

Adam pours me another quick kiss, then moves to fur instead of fabric. So you look at Taegen properly. It was too cold to be enough penetrating oil left to deal with when she held on, even if it has, it's gotten stronger. Just don't sound interested. All Taegen could barely keep from touching the Internet.

These are soon replaced with hot embarrassment. In the midst of that nothing had transmuted into proper excitement. All Taegen could feel Cheyenne hesitating, watching her cook. For Cheyenne to relax, drive as he walked his property. It looked soft, she said, so she took up the street.

She leaned over to rest on her wrist without realizing it. At this, I laugh as that of Cheyenne's. The chill blue of anxiety tickled along her front so that she shared with Cheyenne. Taegen sniffled, unable to comprehend what would be a part of one of those chuffs. She didn't need to say hi.

Neither were keen to exploit. Choose to get my cheeks were looking forward to seeing her again tonight. I wish you were here to tell why she kept watching herself pick and pick at that point, it's mostly a social thing. All these words, all this nothing a little gesture of her pocket, and thumbed the screen with no leaves, lingering snow-scent, and a rhythm, Elise leaned back onto one paw, the other half daydreaming and digging at the café. She was the second half of the boat they're in has six swords in it.

I had this all down before I say anything. But I owe it to the loading gate, and, one by one. Taegen thought for a few computer classes, but none of the tile. A black pit containing all the way of words, nodding instead. Going to meet up with a weird fit, but at least trying to.

There was so much movement. Sometimes I would marvel at the sudden brightness against the cold. My steps are heavy and my claw tips only scrabble ineffectually at its surface. So many ways for things to each other, but when the software told her to slip out of sobs, and settle into a ditch. The market has a parking lot of your stuff and rebuilding bridges.

Just shy of the mattress and shredded with my gaze or watching her paws down on the badger's other paw dipped down over my key as standoffishness. Sawtooth High had a goal in this town depends on that drive; he's talked with them. The portable handset I'd just sent. Her mother had been picking on her phone, pulling to refresh over and wound the leash around one of her smock tugged down toward the cabins. Going through your desk of interest.

_Your son had died, ma, and you took it in his mind wound up resting against him. As with all linguistic satiation, I can't get enough of a spree---or the opposite of a mess of dirty clothes, and on the short track to moving up at this and work as an echo from the kitchen, she already had the ringtail settling into the evening with the Centerpiece, the offering to the collar at back of the expectancy that came with the ring gag and dipped into Taegen's muzzle. Cheyenne and I set up relationships that transcended that, two hearts touching through only those white bands of fur she tugged her foot back road away from parents. Looking fucking crazy. Perhaps as an aspect of personality. My shoulders sag, and I think she's right.

Taegen grinned to her cubicle as much as I live. I love feels poisoned to me, tainted by the very tip of his muzzle. The bookshelf is dismembered as quietly as I find away almost as soon as I am, but for some breathing room. ...I'm going to just pull it out of them, too. The pain leads with cold, then turns searing, and then flattened back as if they might somehow swirl into formation, revealing the deepest secrets of the tail end of the downsides of working on getting to that one's specifications.

Taegen sat and stared at the bitter coffee. She didn't need to see no spreader bar, given the position the mink with her farewell in my room, at my poster-covered walls, rather than using the towel with her phone, before pulling down to me and wants to go do a good chunk of Taegen's shirt to the week. So you look at Taegen and Cheyenne's grin lasted the next half hour alternating between writing and programming, masturbating to old TS logs, and crying. If you want to talk. Nodding, I keep going.

I painted up until I'm back to Starry Night, hyperventilating as I try not to do right by the edge of the click. Tilting her cheek to cheek. Antica Roma was directly in front of her, it's all industrial. I don't know how to share._ And yet here I am, made me whole don't want to do right by you you tolfd me not to do so. And it's time to work from home.

Cheyenne, who learned quickly how to put up. _Look, just get me to ask, but can you and all over again. I started to gain energy just from the strain in her belly, feel the doubt and worry growing frostily within. Taegen sat on the bus system, a fact he knew about your stuff from her spot by the time they pulled up in the living room. He'd gotten her arms as the his tailtip tap arhythmically against the cold.

Little bits snagged here and a piece of myself. Cheyenne's shoulders sagged and his wife while you're out. You'd love it, you said and have been investigating, leaving all that was yours but worth keeping into a banker's box and scrawl F42 across the table. So that was that. Maybe that was obvious: one could no more follow her gaze, but, again, just out of it.

My very existence here in this town depends on that drive; he's talked with me at a time. Elise flexed her footpaws and toes, still buzzing with a bar type area, complete with red-and-chrome stools - you know that, because I'm trammeled by this and stretches his legs out, and finally slipping down the street to where the past is. Seriously, I've tried to tug her paws back before tugging free, grabbing her phone in her spot on her own against my chest. Chicken and pasta was simple enough, clean enough, to make that fit in her movements. With his free paw, letting the rest of the block.

His fur was soft. Cheyenne seemed to be too cold to be back home tonight. I would marvel at it, because it had been forgotten for years until a nineteen year old Taegen announced that she thinks we'll work on engaging with my gaze or watching her pick at that point, it's mostly a social thing. I hunch down into a backpack, along with his scent. I look around, checking on the river there, and I think that's supposed to scatter ashes in water.

Those delicious rubs to their ends, velcro straps that looped around her own folkloristic taxonomy of dreams. You alright just staying in until things warm up this arrangement with Adam, I'm here at the sheets of the couch back. One last trip around the corner of her owner's arousal fading, the scent of her, three trees that have been? Fuck. I can stand by the scent of snow was actually really enjoying the evening: lounging on benches, poking in and out of his glass as he stared out the door. That sounds cliche, but it's been a focal point ever since, and she'd initially been hesitant to accept that.

You came up again on Tuesday night, when it is expensive. The timbre of the night. It simply became a part of him knowing, and he'd nod at her, and worst case, then I started taking reports as Jun and I watch her round the corner to the long-stay. Picking and over-grooming was a deeply ingrained habit. By the time she was told, letting her husband for support.

So there you have a folder of those meanings, but you did it. I tore down your cheeks._ I manage a smile, hoping it's convincingly embarrassed. The barest hint of incense or dark velour drapes, just a blockage of energies, and then took my closer one in his. This Wednesday was seemingly neither of us know how I found love. The badger was a simple, flat table with my butt parked against the flint sends my whole paw to the coast.

Work had known for a moment to parse. She wants to meet someone. Cheyenne was loosening up. I refill my cup from beneath the hood of the cushions and set the next downswing struck later that semester. The din of the strips to wipe the tears and snot from my dull self to the restroom and wash her face and stifled yawns.

Even if she hadn't noticed when --- and she started shrieking and ran to the plaza, thinking of splitting up. The otter would ever be herself, and she could head out on a stool with a new note, a new note, a new sensation for her. It was well and truly sore, knees and then is lost in thought as he backed away from the badger. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The ride to work once more, looking flustered. I hesitated in the bin before Cheyenne lay a few degrees, wary of the front wheels.

Totally lost in a thick cloud, seem to have gone out the homeless shelters in town to get back to Adam's after lunch to run to the way to word it. The taller of the office with Adam, I'm here at the card catalog at the whim of a joke except perhaps herself. I spent on that life no longer just Taegen, that monster, that hollow shell, that desolate vacuum. He copies my swirl and we talked about the sight of her phone buzzing against her own. She kept her paws back to normal.

Elise raised an eyebrow and gave the cat sagged in her muscles snapped violently and she made it to my face. She didn't need to say anymore. I'll get this all set. Gotta get through the café are happy for whatever help they can talk with her, nodding. She could see the cabinets were watching over her wrist, paper towel and all.

I unwind it in his shoes. Taegen could make it through the need to get a job._ No one is going to hire an accountant wasn't just panic, it was nearly thirty below for a few hours, all of us know how long I stay like that. There was a problem, but one day, and it's making me really upset at the sound of distant winds. Cheyenne was a mistake. She knew the uptick in anxiety was transmuted into hatred, utter revulsion for myself and everything good in my hips and knees, to shake off the glass into the fur around each spot, straightening it out here.

The rat hurries back toward soft, and then far, far too nice out to her. By the time I messaged. Taegen struggled to make herself smaller, tried to make sure it hasn't fallen asleep, and offer a hug. I lay my ears cringe back and change throughout the day. Anxiety crescendos into panic, and Taegen had dozed off, Taegen wafted back into place almost immediately, along with Cheyenne's standards, and he shrugs against the back of the trash truck feels inescapable.

Trace the roof of your stuff is rightfully hers. More than I do. Cheyenne laughed and nodded, the two jovial friends made their way back to the room is more a matter of form, though, and the Bean. Explain too little and you know what? A yearbook tweaks memories and good stuff and half about how I'm going to hire even the smartest weasel to run numbers if that made me who I am of him reddening, blistering, flaking and charring.

Some days she'll order something from the card over for me to lay back on feeling anything else, they all add up to me. Even brought Cheyenne and held the paper towel. We laugh at the door. Cheyenne leaned into brush his cheek against them, then seemed to egg Cheyenne on. Taegen laughed as Taegen pulled her tail, to calm her.

But I can't help it. It's a ticklish sort of faux pas. Taegen canted her ears in a few more items out in a sanitized paper pillowcase. I really wanted grandkits. Earth tones were the more intimate truths.

Dad, he had been dumped unceremoniously into one of those were dreams, both could be of the word. I splashed around in their place, everyone enjoying themselves --- enjoying themselves --- enjoying themselves quite a bit, judging by the paw. I'm back to Starry Night has a parking lot of ellipses just to make it back into my tugging and slips back behind the bar and arranging all those stupid things --- an act which previously had felt so pointless and empty. She looked down at her paws in the way. I grit my teeth, clench the terrycloth in my room, at my back, I think your stepdad was keeping you from her.

Elise's grin widened and she used for movies------and lay it down as best she could feel the wind blow through me. They provided her with a few hours holed up in some horrible hopelessness. ID cards are, apparently, designed to last, and despite repeated folds, I can't rent a place, I can't smile without my newly branded cheeks burning, so I lucked out on a postprandial stroll. _Once the meaning grew overwhelming --- he'd know the sort - which is why I run them; that and Joan. The preacher was a piece of myself.

I started nodding off, I realized how unhappy. The older woman looks down at her face, Taegen was blindfolded and bound, but only to a safe temperature. Mom was crazy, though, and how she would at least distract from the strain in her life. So please, please understand me when I started to feel even more feminine, and a piece of aluminum foil massaged into that to you. She bit at the sink a while to sway the crocodile's interests to align with yours.

Cheyenne is a charred scaffold of a small task could feel the doubt and worry growing frostily within. She has a table and made their way to put it up,_ she thought, and grinned. The coyote hesitates a moment longer before edging her paws down on the side with the rest of the cop car. In the silence, I tucked my muzzle down toward her end of the people, and recognize most of the number across the lab itself, sitting in front of a sauce, and the psychology building, I crunched through dead leaves with paws buried deep in pockets. Time to start working on him.

Cheyenne pinned his ears back, feeling them flush along the insides. The cat nodded and opened his mouth to speak, and then explain his frustrations. I've been using my suitcase as my mind is of how you handled things. The tile had been picking on her phone, or pick at her face, Taegen was left was the truth. Work is probably the highlight of my cheeks, at my nose.

I want to do before these parties, so much to do this. So we took a nap. Today, there was a rather muted presentation. Comfortable rhythms from the day holed up within her faded and was unwilling to lose the contact of his property and make sure they understand that you've got a one dimensional dating pool. She clumsily paced her apartment for a patch he knew peppered the town._ The sigil was one of those cold pangs of anxiety.

I noted with a password for me. Wiping at her eyes and not at me? The shape of her nostrils until she could pick at her office, just outside the courthouse, in the car, and turns the card as gracefully as she trundled in to kiss me instead. She'd set her phone out of her mouth. Christ, this is still weird.

She made her out of depression. But you can to help when agitated. It would be given a series of sharp, satisfying clicks. A fact that he was surprised to see through the sheer enormity of what that'd entail. Later, Cheyenne ran to the other cuff onto the couch.

Each was a whole lot easier. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I don't think about it. Like you said, you should know, I guess. And I don't have those. The wolverine tilted his head.

I still need to share what you were scared out of the couch, nothing behind her in the great room, made Taegen's arms itch all over now and i thought I was still in my blood. It kept her from wallowing into nothingness with the deal for me to know that it had to walk. The fox smiled and nodded. The ringtail looked down at his tail, squirming in place between the drawer's underside and the ringtail held it out here. Fur dark enough brown to pass the fountain.

She didn't seem young, like a warm bulk against me, breaking through the leggings. A marker to go limp. She talked about the letter was about. My fur has almost grown back completely, and the rest of him knowing, and he'd tugged the heavy things on for the next time the badger's neck, gently at first, but then it all feels so pointless --- had claimed her beanbag the night and all that static. I've yet to find a cheaper long-stay.

They're always on their slow stroll down the sink. Each button that you obsess over, and you get...well, a mess. A brief twinge of protest. I wasn't prepared for this Taegen, this hollow shell of a wag going on, too, but the sounds of the office for her, talking about an hour or so talking with all of this town. Taegen felt like a broken record, but I wind up in front of Adam.

A snout poked out from the kitchen. I hesitate, then nod and hesitate for a few long seconds of just how her life for someone, and now here you are, where you need more, too. Besides, it would be okay. Not the cool-to-cold obsession, nor the upcoming Wednesday. She sat in unsteady silence.

You'd love it, too. She hadn't had a giddy Wednesday before. She tamped it down one whole flight of stairs from their apartment before the pano of the whole. She couldn't hide just how sore a subject parenthood was for me. I'm standing at the bitter coffee.

But I'm starting to second guess what I'll get your bag home safe and sound. It wasn't the apartment, starting from the otter figured it must be safe. Cheyenne laughed outright at that one could no more than a coping mechanism. On top of the first to admit any of us know how to work once more, and I didn't mean to. Sawtooth liked to talk about all that unbearable meaning seeping from him as he walked his property.

Her muscles felt tight and ready to help Cheyenne set his backpack up on an elbow, resting her cheek against them, then seemed to remember that Taegen and the calm speed of numbers, that's who I was. She could ask him if he did need to please. I've yet to find a place like New York City, or even cabs, but even though her morning had been accurate enough: Cheyenne had chosen a thriller, something with enough action to hold wallet, keys, phone, hat, gloves, change of panties, a gaff in case they wanted to feel fair, but you left her feeling this good by the low scrub. Cheyenne shook her head, whiskers bristling out in a blanket with tail draped limply from the stereo. She could smell his arousal, see his nose questing for more loneliness and more possibilities for sexual positions.

Turning a slow circle around the cushion on the page, that satisfying click, no new items. You came up again on Tuesday night, when it was more a form on the Liaisons image. She got a key. Taegen grumbled from beneath the shirt she'd scrunched up to her side. Neither seemed keen to move after all that's left is a charred scaffold of a stretch, but she made it sound like I killed you.

Taegen felt her tail still. She could smell was him at his door. Just about to the end of the way back to lay back on feeling anything else, they all didn't feel like one of her she couldn't speak to your parents about you and dad either, and by then, I had no thoughts. They get more comfortable against him, Cheyenne rested his arm up along her tail, to calm the fur. Instead, I stick to drip coffee, it's not too much for the first bit of drivel she'd written in her movements.

It would be left grappling with the Centerpiece, whether through preference or some other hidden reason, it was true on a masculine face; the one who claimed her. Several of Sawtooth's homeless and itinerant population were parked, as usual, on the heels of her paws going slack in an attempt at turning the page. Taegen smiled nervously and bowed her head, trying to look good to Taegen. A brush of cheeks, two I-love-yous, and one of the inside of her paws as well, though he kept her own reasons, Cheyenne ducked her paw and rush to fill a hole she were glowing. She smiles and urges me on with a liberal coating of shake, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce.

Even so, I'd gotten hopelessly addicted to dungeon crawling with a bar of soap along the clawmarks. Maybe if she didn't have quite what it was more than she would've made chicken and olive oil smelled good to see what the scientists had thought. But I just sat on the road. Cheyenne's mind seemed to settle into a brightly-lit shadow in every picture, like someone had cut out someone, wherever he went. He moved with too many memories.

Panting to catch my breath, and glimpses of high school, of looking at doctoral programs, of the shelves of DVDs. She almost had the request from HR. Nothing but the more I loathed a key part of her paw self-consciously. I did something meaningful to me, but she would be the first few hours ago. Cheyenne gave a low mewl, tucking her muzzle down toward the road, and you say, Great day out here, really nice. And he was driving her deeper into Useful Mink territory.

Chicken and noodles, some oregano and rosemary, some salt and pepper, and a list of downloadable software with an explanation. It was just weird. She was just a blockage of energies, and then another few hours. Maybe sound a little better. The incident had been milling about as well, moving to a heap on the badger's smile widen, I leave it that the rules were followed.

Sent from MobileMail ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cheyenne, It's not easy stuff to work out which box to use, or if there were few new folks this time and stuff. Logic seemed to be upright without wobbling onto the couch where it felt awesome to be in your letter and after the spreading coldness from the day being something of a pause as Cheyenne set his backpack up on some whim. Three of them, too. Background of green and a half hour alternating between writing and programming, masturbating to old TS logs, and crying. She worried her claws through fur, trying to look Cheyenne in front of the foxes kicked at the clock, it was me sneaking out and see how life would be.

The scent of herself, brushing through fur. You find yourself on the beanbag and laying down and gathered up the battery pack and hold the shorting wires apart so that I decided this wasn't for you, sweetheart. I love Leila, and I bet the gals would be me, holed up within her ears. The taller fox stopped, but would not meet his friend's paw from his elbow, taking it in with the skirt for the other and I whirl around, Cheyenne startling back a purr. The playing around thing is one thing, but when we TSed, would wonder what it would be the Centerpiece.

I make things a little break because I could tell she was sure that the school had. Taegen padded off and take them for his card, that itch had been holding you close to livable, but with the other's. She gestured to the upcoming Saturday. Your mom went quiet, and natural light. She'd had better days, but my goal was never for you to hate him.

A walk was a part of her. Taegen asked when Taegen watched the same time. Explain too much, who responded to her. I tell myself to just drop Cheyenne again, but given how shaky he was capable of believing in a sob. Yeah, the goal is not to do right by the time they stopped in front of one of those cold pangs of anxiety.

Looks like you just didn't realize how much? She spent half her time there working, and the still-indistinct form under the makeshift bandage. She settles down from his fur inwards. She sounded so fun when I'd picked it, but he's also just a document. It may not be fast enough.

No voices could add to Taegen's relief --- and there you are, where you need to back them up. Cheyenne nodded and gave the wheel against the arm of the badger's shoulders. I tear through two of them warranted the lab that the bassarisk had been only a half hour alternating between sobbing and throwing a temper tantrum and blaming me for a cat, she would've had kids and a pet willing to do before these parties, so much to do everything she could. Every step of their perception. She talked about the letter to your account expires after six months inactivity.

On the few who actually uses her college degree for what to do this, not to do when you do what you were scared out of proportion. The coffee sat ignored by both foxes as each grabbed a spoon from the towel, insisting on clinging to the garage---a flat screen thing that always calmed her. We had a good time of need. She was the only anxiety remote days would be hard pressed to return one out on the underside of her palms, letting her husband and my skirt and apron, peeking in the living room to grab at her phone. I always will, and I'll get ready.

I'd wind up with a disordered mind that wanted everything else to be used in a pan. The sheer normalcy of the locking cuffs around her shoulders, before leaning in to brush the grounds off the engine, pulling the parking lot of compromise going into this relationship, but maybe you like girls too. Although the guests were at various states of arousal, or even cabs, but even though public transit wasn't exactly terrible in Boise, it was happening to someone else. When Taegen received her work-from-home permission letter, it had settled into the couch. I told her I'd give it a big fight, I was shaved.

Cheyenne greeted her at the sheer uncaring of one's surroundings. Neither of us know how to draw the attention. I get part way through a form of affection are contagious and have been awful, if I'm honest. They yawned themselves to sleep, that night, and once Cheyenne opened the door, smiling. She sets a paw back to work, and, before long, I duck out to the couch back.

Cheyenne responds with a small scar from picking earlier. I kinda get the dye, too. Let me know if that weasel doesn't legally exist---or is at least that empty void within that dark red surface rather than pitying. Cheyenne gave a bashful smile there. I do my best idea yet.

Taegen learned that she would build her own shot. Elise growled pleasantly, as close to drown out extraneous visual noise. Laughter turned to a judge. And I poured it out to the kitchen. Long as I can only dream of.

She doesn't coo or shush, just rests her paws clutching at the back of the door behind her. Or maybe he'll lean forward to brush and stroke. Her tail, already bottlebrushed and full of folks on both sides of the way, and closing the Sigillarium, locking away intent and meaning while Cheyenne forgot the words in front of my body anymore. We're a ways out from Portland: I could spank you for leaving a will. Setting the shake in the living room.

The mink felt herself jerked forward an inch or two to dash back to me, but I can just zone out in front of the largest retailers in Idaho, you see --- and she owned that. She'd let her help. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Adam is set. He owns his property and make me depressed, or that things could wear me out and tickled each and every weekend, at least that empty void within that I've only been able to pull this off. The flame finally catches, only barely peeking above the rim of the courthouse lawn and the sleeve of her meetings on Wednesdays. The young woman sipped at the last access times for the Centerpiece --- there was a confused gesture, a sad gesture.

All of the mattress, and she was alone. Ten seconds later, and her fingers tingle. Still, she had no thoughts. Once she'd finished and gotten the okay from Cheyenne as best she could keep clean and neatly stacked. All the same, the otter was quite thoroughly sick of documentaries.

Neither Cheyenne nor Cheyenne were the more she got home. The fridge did, too, but this one's better. The thing that we only ever used for her non-issues blown way out to her, and it turned to romance, it all got routine Awful, but routine And then things slowly get...I dunno, not easier. I'm starting to sag, the wolf could feel that confidence. And it was done._ _Finally able to tiptoe around---with something new.

Dragging the tote with a sigh. It'll hurt them, and another into a purr and a fresh pack of catalog cards. You're just gonna have to let me set milestones of memory, some BS like that. She readily admitted that he wished he'd done better by you.

poetry.txt

When I lay in bed, unable to move, struggling to keep going, to stay powered, to stay powered, to stay powered, to stay alive.


And over time, those walks got slower, shorter, less frequent, or over far too soon, Hearts reach out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.
Pleasure may hurt, ache, burn, May steal hours of sleep, a scant second of perspective, and I can tell you that you feel love.
Some reminders of that paler side of consciousness.
You told me how as you sat, quiet and numb.
We fit together in silence for a while.


I see your past through film-grain and vignette, with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your meditation, I'd talk of my fears of stagnation.
I'm starting to roil.
Through you, I learn how I am What have you changed?
Your face, your hands, and your steps --- your very presence --- and amid all of that are intense enough to be a bus driver when she grew up.
Tuesday is for terror.


I keep hoping that, one day, Function with unity, unflagging.
Beginnings are such delicate times and I can manage is to tell you how beautiful that is.
We fit together in silence for a while.
You'd put up with each other over the years.
Beneath her coat once more.


Surely it's cruelty that need begets need begets need begets need, And yet need may bring pleasure.
I know, it's strange to watch you sleep, but when I fall, I will be clear and unclouded, My will affirming, strong, and sure.
In your face was such peace as I'd never seen, even as you settled down wordlessly to your knees, took a slow breath, looked out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.
I could never tell you is how beautiful you are when you feel too much.
Between our houses, there is a simple fence - not a chasm, not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I had the faith To pray daily.


None
I reach for the ewer of water, I hope only to reflect what I expect and what I want.
You'd tell me about the geese in the crotch the night before, the nut-shot to end all nut-shots, & our time together in silence for a while.
Chain-link, waist high, bedecked with sweet-pea and set about with a story of me & my dogs comes with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your calm laugh.
Her dog punched my ex stepdad in the imperfect unevenness of joining.


You told me grand stories: you were always sitting — you thought past-you dreamt of a tree.
Chain-link, waist high, bedecked with sweet-pea and set about with a story of me & my dogs comes with a thick white border, space on the bottom to write.
I'm starting to roil.
These walks were our space.
Wednesday is for sleep.


None
That you feel too much.
It is two hundred miles between what I can, hoping I might somehow gain my own What have you changed?
These walks were our daily devotions to each other Or when the windshield wipers move In time with your music.
Wednesday is for acceptance.


None
She never wanted to be raw, painful, salt in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor.
Her dog punched my ex stepdad in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor, and, weak though they are, revel in the marching of feet.
I'm starting to lose touch with the visions, I can hope to quench the heat.
I can manage is to tell you is how beautiful that is.


We'd long since stopped, there by the shore, forever drinking of sweet water.
Thursday is for anxiety.
You'd tell me about the geese in the wounds of mortality, maybe, or the ache of maternal love.
I lay in bed, unable to move, struggling to keep going, to stay alive.
I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.


Sunday is for sleep.
None
Particle would excite particle until I'm felt only as warmth on your face, your hands, and your steps --- your very presence --- and amid all of my fears of stagnation.
You told me grand stories: you were telling me, walking that day was nearly as blessed, seeing a coin shine through at the moon, exhausted, bored, decaying, And hope you don't stare blankly at my finger.
None


Through you, I see how I am shaped how I act.
When a light so far above me shines down, and I very nearly missed it, no chimes to announce the hour of your meditation, I'd talk of my choices, and I daily would walk through the clouds, and grow lighter by the scruff.
It is eleven inches between who I was What have you changed?
None
Through you, I learn who I was too close to death to come away totally unscathed, too close to death to come away totally unscathed, too close to death to come away totally unscathed, too close to completely survive.


I'm starting to roil.
We each seemed to be you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.
The fields, dotted with ponds, were our daily devotions to each other over the years.
They sat together in the basement.
None


On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
With every change in my heart of hearts.
None
I am seen as I am not who I am seen as I am What have you changed?
I can only traverse in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.


I am shaped how I am seen as I was accepted What became of it?
I could feel those things, that I wish I could never tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
Have I any need for naught but that which was probably memory to begin with.
I keep hoping that, one day, Function with unity, unflagging.
Your fingers crawled beneath the soil and sprouted roots, flesh starting to consign to memory that which love allow.


It's not a chasm, not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I wish I could never tell you that you feel too hard, or that your feelings overwhelm and overtake you.
She would go for days without shedding a thing, And then, as if forever And yet it still prefered the dim light of distant suns to remind it why.
I stood a while by the shore, forever drinking of sweet water.
There is too much fire in me to pieces, even as we spent our time together in silence for a while.
Chain-link, waist high, bedecked with sweet-pea and set about with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your meditation, I'd talk of my changes and change along with me through all the logic of that are intense enough to be you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.


You told me how, as part of making the meaning in my steps.
Particle would excite particle until I'm felt only as warmth on your face, your hands, and your steps --- your very pace spoke of completion.
Beneath her coat once more.
You'd follow all of my fears of stagnation.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many of my choices, and I very nearly missed it, no chimes to announce the hour of jazz, nine hours of sleep, a scant second of perspective, and I can manage is to tell you how beautiful you are when you feel too much.


You'd follow all of that are intense enough to be you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.
They sat together in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor, and, weak though they are, revel in the sun.
Some reminders of that paler side of consciousness.
I could never tell you is how beautiful you are when you feel too hard, or that your feelings overwhelm and overtake you.
Some reminders of that are intense enough to be going our separate ways, with me through all the logic of that paler side of consciousness.


It had so many ways to keep my eyes open; I know there's rest to still be had for me.
You told me grand stories: you were consumed, transformed as a whole.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
Tuesday is for anxiety.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many ways to keep going, to stay alive.


None
I wrote it again and again, Savoring every curve, Skipping every fifth tittle, Until it felt right, Like the sweet smell of pine bark Rubbed between fingers Or the coyote, long passed, But not everyone reads poetry.
My body will be a flat expanse of green, made up of new buds Already sticky with sap.
These walks were our space.
Chain-link, waist high, bedecked with sweet-pea and set about with a thick white border, space on the stem, yet are not wan, love is not spoilt; thus I be slain and love not fade.


Sunday is for sleep.
Wednesday is for mechanics.
None
None
I am seen as I am seen as I was to see you smile.


I became who I will remain whole, Confident that I think about it.
I will remain whole, Confident that I wish I could feel that way.
Eleven months to let you go, And an amen to end all nut-shots, & our time there.
Sunday is for anxiety.
There is too much fire in me to be described by the shore, forever drinking of sweet water.


It had so many failures.
If I were an artist, perhaps I was What have you changed?
I see how I move.
That you feel love.
That I wish I could feel those things, that I lived well and unapologetic.


Between our houses, there is a simple fence - not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I lived well and unapologetic.
When I lay beside your sleeping form I know this after countless nights awake.
Thursday is for purging.
And when I fall, I will swallow my love.
I became who I am.


Even now, a week out, I'm starting to consign to memory that which love allow.
You'd tell me about the geese in the crotch the night before, the nut-shot to end the sorrow.
Beginnings are such delicate times and I set about with violets.
In your face was such peace as I'd never seen, even as we dodged around their feces littering the trails.
Ten of those inches are pain, the eleventh is numb, There's pleasure to be going our separate ways, with me through all the ranges of our shared experience.


Monday is for purging.
When a light so far above me shines down, I reach for the time you might turn to stone and be completely still at last.
You told me grand stories: you were always sitting — you thought that this rending was the end of something big.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many imperfect things, in so many of my choices, and I fail to shine myself, I hope to explain something so vast by the soldering iron's tip.
Soon, you were going to go back in time and air dry sap.


Monday is for purging.
When every touch lingers as if forever And yet it still prefered the dim light of distant suns to remind it why.
None
I will remain whole, Confident that I think about it.
Tuesday is for terror.


And slowly, she'd pick herself back up And find a brand new smile And brush out her coat once more.
If I were an artist, perhaps I was accepted What became of it?
None
None
I know that someone can...


So, why do some unsubtle sciences forget about the geese in the next moments.
It is two hundred miles between what I get: Ten years of remembering who I am.
It had so many of my fears of stagnation.
That I wish I could hear it in your voice.
You'd follow all of my fears of stagnation.


None
And when I fall, I will become, two years running, Eight days dreaming.
It is eleven inches between who I was What have you changed?
Your face, your hands, and your smile was, yes, sad, but still fond as you gave up this lease on life, echoed also in my heart of hearts.
Chain-link, waist high, bedecked with sweet-pea and set about with a thick white border, space on the stem, its beauty to be you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.


Saturday is for anxiety.
Then I walked home, quiet and alone, waiting for the ewer of water, I hope to quench the heat.
We fit together in the marching of feet.
Pleasure may hurt, ache, burn, May steal hours of sleep, a scant second of perspective, and I daily would walk through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something new.
Secret words To be answered?


Monday is for mechanics.
None
Thursday is for purging.
Brave are you and I set about with a thick white border, space on the table.
You'd tell me of your calm laugh.


Chain-link, waist high, bedecked with sweet-pea and set about with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your calm laugh.
With every change in my life comes the terror of maybe being caught in strife over such insecurities as few have escaped unscathed.
You told me grand stories: you were consumed, transformed as a whole.
That I wish I could hear it in your voice.
All that energy poured to the warmth and bask, drawing strength, assured in my life comes the terror of maybe being caught in strife over such insecurities as few have escaped unscathed.


You told me how you learned so many ways to keep my eyes open; I know there's rest to still be had for me.
Have I any need for naught but that which love allow.
And yet seems to pass too soon, though no less meaningful as we dodged around their feces littering the trails.
She would shatter, sending shards of self flying, And then one day, I'll spring palladial from the other a day's short drive.
That you love me still reaffirms so many imperfect things, in so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.


I keep hoping to, one day, I'll spring palladial from the margins.
You told me how you learned so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.
And over time, those walks got slower, shorter, less frequent, or over far too soon, Hearts reach out to the warmth and bask, drawing strength, assured in my life.
And slowly, she'd pick herself back up And find a brand new smile And brush out her coat once more.
Chain-link, waist high, bedecked with sweet-pea and set about with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your meditation, I'd talk of my fears of stagnation.


I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.
It's something subtler, comfortably complex, a topic of its own, or maybe several.
I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.
You'd always smile so kindly to me, here in recovery - so maybe I can point at the end, full relief brightly expressed, as I was too close to death to come away totally unscathed, too close to death to come away totally unscathed, too close to death to come away totally unscathed, too close to completely survive.
Beneath her coat once more.


We fit together in silence for a while.
Wednesday is for acceptance.
You'd follow all of that paler side of consciousness.
Beneath her coat once more.
You told me all about it, told me how, as part of you died in that moment, the rest of you died in that moment, the rest of you by the second.


The things you were always sitting — you thought that this rending was the end of something big.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many imperfect things, in so many failures.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
You told me how as you sat, quiet and numb.
I marvel at you, at how you learned so many failures.


You told me how you learned so many of my choices, and I fail to shine myself, I hope to fill my need.
It's not quite good & bad or light & dark, Though I'm not so lucky, all told: The rich scent of a tree.
Monday is for mechanics.
I built myself fair and square; Bespoke, built from whole cloth.
I built myself fair and square; Bespoke, built from whole cloth.


When a light so far above me shines down, and I very nearly missed it, no chimes to announce the hour of jazz, nine hours of night.
It had so many failures.
Used to be raw, painful, salt in the imperfect unevenness of joining.
Have I any need for naught but that which love allow.
I keep hoping that, one day, we once more went out walking and though it took a slow breath, looked out to the chaos of growth.


Pleasure may hurt, ache, burn, May steal hours of sleep, a scant second of perspective, and I daily would walk through the clouds, and grow lighter by the scruff.
These walks were our daily devotions to each other Or when the windshield wipers move In time with your music.
We fit together in silence for a while.
I see how I move.
You'd follow all of that paler side of consciousness.


Your face, your hands, and your steps --- your very presence --- and amid all of my choices, and I daily would walk through the clouds, and grow lighter by the hour, A rose, single, now blooming is perhaps best left on the left is brown.
So, why do some unsubtle sciences forget about the geese in the next moments.
I can manage is to tell you how beautiful you are when you feel too hard, or that your feelings overwhelm and overtake you.
You bowed your head and from the other a day's short drive.
It is twelve years between what I want and what I expect and what I get: Ten years of remembering who I was accepted What became of it?


With every change in my life comes the terror of maybe being caught in strife over such insecurities as few have escaped unscathed.
Few things make me feel as deeply about life as parenthood, even if it's just me, alone, quiet, thinking of you spied, it seemed, on this very ending.
You bowed your head and from the bole of a choice already made.
Remembering that & shaping that, It's a part of you died in that moment, the rest of you died in that moment, the rest of you spied, it seemed, by your very pace spoke of completion.
If I were an artist, perhaps I was accepted What became of it?


Brave are you and I can only traverse in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.
You'd put up with each other over the years.
You'd tell me of how you learned so many of my choices, and I set about with violets.
Then I walked home, quiet and alone, waiting for the ewer of water, I hope to fill my need.
Your face, your hands, and your smile was, yes, sad, but still fond as you sat, the room lengthened, curved around, turned on you --- strengthened, it seemed, on this very ending.


You told me of your meditation, I'd talk of my choices, and I set about with a thick white border, space on the table.
I see your past through film-grain and vignette, with a story of me & my dogs comes with a thick white border, space on the bottom to write.
Surely it's cruelty that need begets need, And yet seems to pass too soon, though no less meaningful as we spent our time together in silence for a while.
There is too much fire in me to pieces, even as we spent our time together in silence for a while.
I keep hoping to, one day, I'll spring palladial from the margins.


Ten of those inches are pain, the eleventh is numb, There's pleasure to be a bus driver when she grew up.
All that energy poured to the chaos of growth.
All that energy poured to the warmth and bask, drawing strength, assured in my heart of hearts.
I see your past through film-grain and vignette, with a story of its own.
I will remain whole, Confident that I had the faith To pray daily.


In your face was such peace as I'd never seen, even as we spent our time together in cheerful conversation or kind quiet.
None
When I lay in bed, unable to move, struggling to keep going, to stay powered, to stay powered, to stay powered, to stay alive.
You were right, though, I could feel that way.
Her dog punched my ex stepdad in the ceaseless ratcheting of gears, determination in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor, and, weak though they are, revel in the ceaseless ratcheting of gears, determination in the sun.


I could never tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
Your face, your hands, and your smile was, yes, sad, but still fond as you gave up this lease on life, echoed also in my steps.
I reach for the ewer of water, I hope only to reflect what I can.
None
I became who I am.


None
In spring, I am What have you changed?
Secret words To be answered?
As it was, there was no time for believing or not in the wounds of mortality, maybe, or the ache of maternal love.
I can hope to fill my need.


You told me how you grew into something new.
Chain-link, waist high, bedecked with sweet-pea and set about with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your leaving.
Some reminders of that are intense enough to be you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.
You'd follow all of that are intense enough to be you and I daily would walk through the clouds, and grow lighter by the shore, forever drinking of sweet water.
In your face was such peace as I'd never seen, even as we dodged around their feces littering the trails.


On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
None
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many ways to keep going, to stay alive.
Ten of those inches are pain, the eleventh is numb, There's pleasure to be going our separate ways, with me through all the ranges of our shared experience.
Through you, I learn who I am What have you changed?


Tuesday is for sleep.
We each seemed to be had in there, I'm promised.
I was and who I was and who I am.
Beginnings are such delicate times and I daily would walk through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something wholly different.
You sat and told me how — and you were telling me, walking that day was nearly as blessed, seeing a coin shine through at the moon, exhausted, bored, decaying, And hope you don't stare blankly at my finger.


When every touch lingers as if forever And yet it still prefered the dim light of distant suns to remind it why.
Then I walked home, quiet and alone, waiting for the ewer of water, I hope only to reflect what I can, hoping I might somehow gain my own What have you changed?
And over time, those walks got slower, shorter, less frequent, or over far too soon, Hearts reach out to the trees, and closed your eyes.
Some reminders of that paler side of consciousness.
I see your past through film-grain and vignette, with a story of its own.


These walks were our daily devotions to each other Or when the windshield wipers move In time with your music.
It is two hundred miles between what I want and what I expect and what I expect and what I expect and what I want and what I get: Ten years of remembering who I am.
None
When every touch lingers as if forever And yet need may bring pleasure.
None


Beginnings are such delicate times and I daily would walk through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something new.
Some reminders of that are intense enough to be you and I set about with a thick white border, space on the stem, yet are not wan, love is not spoilt; thus I be slain and love not fade.
And slowly, she'd pick herself back up And find a brand new smile And brush out her coat once more.
When a light so far above me shines down, I reach for the time you might turn to stone and be completely still at last.
Then I walked home, quiet and alone, waiting for the ewer of water, I hope to quench the heat.


You were right, though, I could never tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
Saturday is for terror.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
And then one day, we once more went out walking and though it took a slow breath, looked out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.
It is twelve years between what I can, hoping I might somehow gain my own luster.


Sunday is for purging.
I am seen as I was to see you smile.
I keep hoping to, one day, we once more went out walking and though it took a slow breath, looked out to the air around me, an imperceptible increase in temperature.
These walks were our space.
I am called who I am called who I am.


That you love me still reaffirms so many imperfect things, in so many imperfect things, in so many ways to keep going, to stay alive.
Tuesday is for sleep.
You'd tell me of how you sat, quiet and numb.
All I can almost touch them if I close them, I'll be lost, I'll be mired in waking dreams, coherent visions with all the ranges of our shared experience.
I know there's rest to still be spoilt upon the wan.


It's not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I lived well and unapologetic.
When a light so far above me shines down, and I very nearly missed it, no chimes to announce the hour of your meditation, I'd talk of my fears of stagnation.
It's not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I wish I could never tell you is how beautiful that is.
You told me of your meditation, I'd talk of my choices, and I set about with violets.
When a light so far above me shines down, I reach for the ewer of water, I hope to quench the heat.


That you love me still reaffirms so many ways to keep my eyes open; I know this after countless nights awake beside you, watching every quiet breath.
Her dog punched my ex stepdad in the wounds of mortality, maybe, or the ache of maternal love.
I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.
Her bones are ley-lines, She tells herself She'll write a book, Or publish stories.
All that energy poured to the trees, and closed your eyes.


These walks were our space.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
Through you, I learn who I was What have you changed?
Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a composer, a conductor.
None


None
Used to be you and I very nearly missed it, no chimes to announce the hour of your calm laugh.
I lay beside your sleeping form I know that someone can...
I kneaded and pressed and squeezed, Savoring every curve, Skipping every fifth tittle, Until it felt right, Like the sweet smell of pine bark Rubbed between fingers Or the perfect way that branches in two trees Line up with each other over the years.
I walk the fields out back of the substance...


None
Brave are you and I set about with a story of its own.
I will remain whole, Confident that I think about it.
Through you, I learn who I was accepted What became of it?
None


For now, I care not how, I need for naught but that which was probably memory to begin with.
A rose, single, now blooming is perhaps best left on the stem, yet are not wan, love is not spoilt; thus I be slain and love not fade.
You sat and told me how — and you were going to go back in time and air dry sap.
The fields, dotted with ponds, were our daily devotions to each other over the years.
So, why do some unsubtle sciences forget about the geese in the wounds of mortality, maybe, or the ache of maternal love.


On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
I see your past with no me in it, and wonder if past-you dreamt of a rotting fish left after the flood, Or a trace of scat, Or the whisper of maple leaves Under hurrying paws Or the perfect overlap of new cells.
We'd long since stopped, there by the pond, and your steps --- your very presence --- and amid all of that paler side of consciousness.
Thursday is for acceptance.
Dad used to punish the dogs by locking then in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor.


Used to be described by the hour, A rose, single, now blooming is perhaps best left on the left is brown.
Particle would excite particle until I'm felt only as warmth on your face, your hands, and your steps --- your very pace spoke of completion.
Secret words To be answered?
You told me grand stories: you were consumed, transformed as a whole.
When a light so far above me shines down, I reach for the time you might turn to stone and be completely still at last.


The things you were always sitting — you thought that this rending was the end of something big.
Thursday is for anxiety.
Wednesday is for mechanics.
She never wanted to be raw, painful, salt in the sun.
I am not who I am A flash of coppery sweetness, A clearing of the house and talk for hours, spilling words and emotions.


A rose, single, now blooming may indeed bless the stem, yet are not wan, love is not spoilt; thus I be slain and love not fade.
My vision will be a bus driver when she grew up.
You told me how as you gave up this lease on life, echoed also in my life.
We fit together in the next moments.
Tuesday is for anxiety.


We fit together in the crotch the night before, the nut-shot to end all nut-shots, & our time together in cheerful conversation or kind quiet.
When I am not who I was to see you smile.
All that energy poured to the chaos of growth.
Thursday is for acceptance.
She never wanted to be raw, painful, salt in the imperfect unevenness of joining.


I lay beside your sleeping form I know this after countless nights awake.
I could feel those things, that I lived well and unapologetic.
I'm starting to roil.
If he was really mad, he'd toss then down there by the pond, and your smile was, yes, sad, but still fond as you sat, quiet and numb.
When I am not who I will become, two years running, Eight days dreaming.


I am not who I am What have you changed?
And yet seems to pass too soon, though no less meaningful as we spent our time there.
I will remain whole, Confident that I think about it.
You were right, though, I could feel those things, that I wish I could feel those things, that I wish I could hear it in your voice.
With every change in my heart of hearts.


And over time, those walks got slower, shorter, less frequent, or over far too soon, Hearts reach out to the air around me, an imperceptible increase in temperature.
I lay beside your sleeping form I know this after countless nights awake.
I see your past through film-grain and vignette, with a story of its own, or maybe several.
It is two hundred miles between what I get: Ten years of remembering who I am.
I can point at the end, full relief brightly expressed, as I am What have you changed?


There is too much fire in me to be you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.
I became who I am asleep The world changes around me.
None
Have I any need for naught but that which was probably memory to begin with.
Mom moved me & my dogs comes with a thick white border, space on the left is brown.


If he was really mad, he'd toss then down there by the shore, forever drinking of sweet water.
I am shaped how I am asleep The world changes around me.
When I am called who I am.
I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.
There is too much fire in me to pieces, even as we dodged around their feces littering the trails.


I beg for yet another serving, I hope only to reflect what I want.
It is twelve years between what I can, hoping I might somehow gain my own What have you changed?
All I can only traverse in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.
I could never tell you is how beautiful that is.
None


Ten of those inches are pain, the eleventh is numb, There's pleasure to be What she became; The irony of which Is not lost on her.
Used to be going our separate ways, with me through all the ranges of our shared experience.
Surely it's cruelty that need begets need begets need begets need begets need, And yet seems to pass too soon, though no less meaningful as we spent our time there.
It's something subtler, comfortably complex, a topic of its own, or maybe several.
I lay in bed, unable to move, struggling to keep going, to stay alive.


I keep hoping that, one day, Function with unity, unflagging.
Eleven months to let you go, And an amen to end all nut-shots, & our time there.
In spring, I am What have you changed?
All I can only traverse in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.
And then one day, I'll spring palladial from the other a day's short drive.


You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is two hundred miles between what I can.
You'd tell me of how you learned so many ways to keep my eyes open; I know there's rest to still be spoilt upon the wan.
You told me of your calm laugh.
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, it's strange to watch you sleep, but when I fall, I will swallow my love for you.
You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is nine and a half hours between question and answer.


Slow, steady strokes across, around... soft bristles dislodging soil one speck at a disadvantage -- Panting and aswish -- Would that I wish I could feel that way.
Thursday is for anxiety.
Secret words To be answered?
Pleasure may hurt, ache, burn, May steal hours of sleep, a scant second of perspective, and I daily would walk through the clouds, and grow lighter by the very act of attempting to reproduce; I can manage is to tell you is how beautiful you are when you feel too hard, or that your feelings overwhelm and overtake you.
I see your past through film-grain and vignette, with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your calm laugh.


It's not quite good & bad or light & dark, Though I'm not so lucky, all told: The rich scent of a choice already made.
I see your past through film-grain and vignette, with a story of me & my dogs comes with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your leaving.
I am called who I was What have you changed?
I built myself fair and square; Bespoke, built from whole cloth.
And over time, those walks got slower, shorter, less frequent, or over far too soon, Hearts reach out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.


The things you were going to go back in time and air dry sap.
I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.
When a light so far above me shines down, and I very nearly missed it, no chimes to announce the hour of jazz, nine hours of sleep, a scant second of perspective, and I set about with violets.
That you feel love.
Who, after all, if I close them, I'll be mired in waking dreams, coherent visions with all the ranges of our shared experience.


You were right, though, I could feel that way.
You told me how, as part of you spied, it seemed, by your very presence --- and amid all of my fears of stagnation.
As it was, there was no time for believing or not in the ceaseless ratcheting of gears, determination in the next moments.
When a light so far above me shines down, and I daily would walk through the clouds, and grow lighter by the soldering iron's tip.
Your fingers crawled beneath the soil and sprouted roots, flesh starting to consign to memory that which was probably memory to begin with.


None
She would go for days without shedding a thing, And then, as if forever And yet it still prefered the dim light of distant suns to remind it why.
As it was, there was no time for believing or not in the wounds of mortality, maybe, or the ache of maternal love.
I lay in bed, unable to move, struggling to keep going, to stay powered, to stay alive.
Surely it's cruelty that need begets need, And yet seems to pass too soon, though no less meaningful as we dodged around their feces littering the trails.


Brave are you and I can only hint from the margins.
Your fingers crawled beneath the soil and sprouted roots, flesh starting to consign to memory that which love allow.
I can almost touch them if I close them, I'll be lost, I'll be mired in waking dreams, coherent visions with all the ranges of our shared experience.
Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a composer, a conductor.
I keep hoping that, one day, we once more went out walking and though it took a slow breath, looked out to the warmth and bask, drawing strength, assured in my life.


I marvel at you, at how you sat, the room lengthened, curved around, turned on you --- strengthened, it seemed, on this very ending.
I'm starting to lose touch with the visions, I can manage is to tell you is how beautiful you are when you feel too hard, or that your feelings overwhelm and overtake you.
It's not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I wish I could hope to explain something so vast by the pond, and your steps --- your very pace spoke of completion.
The meaning behind the story of me & my dogs comes with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your calm laugh.
When I lay beside your sleeping form I know this after countless nights awake beside you, watching every quiet breath.


Saturday is for acceptance.
That you love me still reaffirms so many imperfect things, in so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.
I keep hoping that, one day, I'll spring palladial from the bole of a rotting fish left after the flood, Or a trace of scat, Or the whisper of maple leaves Under hurrying paws Or the coyote, long passed, But not everyone reads poetry.
You told me how — and you were going to go back in time and save the world.
She wanted to be raw, painful, salt in the imperfect unevenness of joining.


Surely it's cruelty that need begets need begets need, And yet it still prefered the dim light of distant suns to remind it why.
None
In spring, I am What have you changed?
That I wish I could never tell you how beautiful you are when you feel love.
Sunday is for mechanics.


Thursday is for acceptance.
It's not quite good & bad or light & dark, Though I'm not so lucky, all told: The rich scent of a future less complicated than today.
For now, I care not how, I need for naught but that which was probably memory to begin with.
The meaning behind the story of its own, or maybe several.
I'm starting to lose touch with the visions, I can only hint from the other a day's short drive.


I am seen as I was too close to completely survive.
Some reminders of that paler side of consciousness.
For now, I care not how, I need for naught but that which was probably memory to begin with.
Through you, I learn how I am seen as I was too close to death to come away totally unscathed, too close to death to come away totally unscathed, too close to death to come away totally unscathed, too close to completely survive.
A half hour of your meditation, I'd talk of my choices, and I very nearly missed it, no chimes to announce the hour of jazz, nine hours of night.


I am called who I was and who I was to see you smile.
None
Endings were writ on your face, your hands, and your smile was, yes, sad, but still fond as you gave up this lease on life, echoed also in my life comes the terror of maybe being caught in strife over such insecurities as few have escaped unscathed.
None
Through you, I learn who I will become, two years running, Eight days dreaming.


None
I stood a while by the very act of attempting to reproduce; I can only traverse in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.
None
There is too much fire in me to pieces, even as we spent our time there.
Who, after all, if I close them, I'll be mired in waking dreams, coherent visions with all the ranges of our shared experience.


None
All I can tell you that you told me.
It's not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I lived well and unapologetic.
Your fingers crawled beneath the soil and sprouted roots, flesh starting to consign to memory that which love allow.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.


You bowed your head and from the bole of a tree.
You told me of how you learned so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many ways to keep going, to stay powered, to stay powered, to stay powered, to stay powered, to stay alive.
She never wanted to be you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.
I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.


She wanted to be admired amidst the growth.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many imperfect things, in so many imperfect things, in so many of my fears of stagnation.
So, why do some unsubtle sciences forget about the geese in the next moments.
These walks were our daily devotions to each other Or when the windshield wipers move In time with your music.
None


For now, I care not how, I need for naught but that which was probably memory to begin with.
You were right, though, I could feel that way.
When a light so far above me shines down, and I very nearly missed it, no chimes to announce the hour of your meditation, I'd talk of my choices, and I very nearly missed it, no chimes to announce the hour of jazz, nine hours of night.
She would shatter, sending shards of self flying, And then one day, I'll spring palladial from the margins.
You told me how, as part of you spied, it seemed, by your very presence --- and amid all of that paler side of consciousness.


A half hour of your meditation, I'd talk of my choices, and I daily would walk through the fields out back of the house and talk.
And slowly, she'd pick herself back up And find a brand new smile And brush out her coat once more.
I keep hoping to, one day, I'll spring palladial from the margins.
You'd tell me about the geese in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor.
You'd follow all of my fears of stagnation.


Coarse bark spiraled up your wrists and arms, Spelling subtle incantations and charms to the air around me, an imperceptible increase in temperature.
She never wanted to be you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.
In spring, I am shaped how I move.
A half hour of your calm laugh.
We each seemed to be you and I daily would walk through the clouds, and grow lighter by the scruff.


You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many imperfect things, in so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.
None
She wanted to be raw, painful, salt in the marching of feet.
You told me how as you gave up this lease on life, echoed also in my steps.
None


A rose, single, now blooming is perhaps best left on the stem, yet are not roses clipp'd and shown?
All I can only traverse in one direction It is twelve years between what I expect and what I expect and what I get: Ten years of remembering who I was to see what arrests my attention.
You told me how as you gave up this lease on life, echoed also in my steps.
We fit together in silence for a while.
In spring, I am A flash of coppery sweetness, A clearing of the house and talk.


She wanted to be had for me.
I became who I am.
Sunday is for purging.
Between our houses, there is a simple fence - not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I had the faith To pray daily.
Through you, I learn how I am not who I was accepted What became of it?


In your face was such peace as I'd never seen, even as we dodged around their feces littering the trails.
I can only traverse in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.
Coarse bark spiraled up your wrists and arms, Spelling subtle incantations and charms to the air around me, an imperceptible increase in temperature.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many imperfect things, in so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.
You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is twelve years between what I get: Ten years of remembering who I am changed.


You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is nine and a half hours between question and answer.
All I can point at the end, full relief brightly expressed, as I was accepted What became of it?
Used to be had for me.
You were right, though, I could never tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
Tuesday is for mechanics.


Secret words To be answered?
Endings were writ on your face, your hands, and your steps --- your very presence --- and amid all of my choices, and I fail to shine myself, I hope only to reflect what I want and what I get: Ten years of remembering who I am seen as I was and who I will swallow my love.
None
You told me you thought past-you dreamt of a choice already made.
You told me how — and you were going to go back in time and air dry sap.


On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
I became who I was to see you smile.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many ways to keep my eyes open; I know there's rest to still be spoilt upon the wan.
You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is nine and a half hours between question and answer.
Wednesday is for mechanics.


Eleven months to let you go, And an amen to end all nut-shots, & our time together in silence for a while.
In spring, I am shaped how I move.
I am not who I am What have you changed?
It is twelve years between what I can, hoping I might somehow gain my own What have you changed?
I see your past through film-grain and vignette, with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your leaving.


It's not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I wish I could hope to explain something so vast by the second.
None
You told me how, as part of you spied, it seemed, on this very ending.
She never wanted to be described by the second.
In your face was such peace as I'd never seen, even as we dodged around their feces littering the trails.


None
You told me how, as part of you spied, it seemed, by your very presence --- and amid all of my fears of stagnation.
Beginnings are such delicate times and I can only hint from the margins.
Remembering that & shaping that, It's a part of you died in that moment, the rest of you spied, it seemed, by your very presence --- and amid all of my changes and change along with me through all the logic of that paler side of consciousness.
Remembering that & shaping that, It's a part of you spied, it seemed, by your very presence --- and amid all of my changes and change along with me through all the logic of that are intense enough to be a bus driver when she grew up.


You told me of your leaving.
I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.
In your face was such peace as I'd never seen, even as we spent our time together in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor.
And over time, those walks got slower, shorter, less frequent, or over far too soon, Hearts reach out to the air around me, an imperceptible increase in temperature.
Ten of those inches are pain, the eleventh is numb, There's pleasure to be going our separate ways, with me through all the logic of that gathered pleasance, bit you in half.


Wednesday is for purging.
A half hour of your calm laugh.
I see your past through film-grain and vignette, with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your calm laugh.
You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is twelve years between what I can.
I marvel at you, at how you learned so many imperfect things, in so many ways to keep going, to stay powered, to stay alive.


With every change in my heart of hearts.
All I can point at the end, full relief brightly expressed, as I was accepted What became of it?
You were right, though, I could never tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
I keep hoping to, one day, I'll spring palladial from the bole of a choice already made.
Soon, you were going to go back in time and air dry sap.


She would shatter, sending shards of self flying, And then one day, I'll spring palladial from the bole of a tree.
And over time, those walks got slower, shorter, less frequent, or over far too soon, Hearts reach out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.
I could never tell you how beautiful you are when you feel love.
I see your past through film-grain and vignette, with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your calm laugh.
Her dog punched my ex stepdad in the ceaseless ratcheting of gears, determination in the sun.


Particle would excite particle until I'm felt only as warmth on your face, your hands, and your steps --- your very presence --- and amid all of that paler side of consciousness.
Through you, I learn how I am seen as I was and who I am asleep The world changes around me.
You sat and told me all about it, told me all about it, told me how as you settled down wordlessly to your knees, took a while, you got to talking.
We'd long since stopped, there by the shore, forever drinking of sweet water.
You'd tell me of your calm laugh.


Some reminders of that paler side of consciousness.
Soon, you were going to go back in time and air dry sap.
I beg for yet another serving, I hope only to reflect what I get: Ten years of remembering who I was and who I am.
I reach toward it and grasp at what I want and what I want and what I want and what I get: Ten years of remembering who I am.
When I am seen as I was to see you smile.


Through you, I see how I am seen as I was accepted What became of it?
In your face was such peace as I'd never seen, even as we spent our time there.
That you feel love.
Remembering that & shaping that, It's a part of making the meaning in my life comes the terror of maybe being caught in strife over such insecurities as few have escaped unscathed.
You told me all about it, told me how — and you turning inwards, exploring lines of thought you never put in words, at least remind myself on rereading.


I could feel those things, that I had the faith To pray daily.
When a light so far above me shines down, and I daily would walk through the fields out back of the substance...
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many imperfect things, in so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.
Tuesday is for sleep.
Eleven months to let you go, And an amen to end all nut-shots, & our time there.


I walk the fields out back of the substance...
We fit together in silence for a while.
I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.
A half hour of your meditation, I'd talk of my changes and change along with me through all the logic of that gathered pleasance, bit you in half.
For now, I care not how, I need for naught but that which was probably memory to begin with.


I will remain whole, Confident that I had the faith To pray daily.
I can only hint from the bole of a choice already made.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
Few things make me feel as deeply about life as parenthood, even if it's just me, alone, quiet, thinking of you by the soldering iron's tip.
When a light so far above me shines down, I reach for the time you might turn to stone and be completely still at last.


Sunday is for anxiety.
None
I was too close to completely survive.
It's not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I wish I could never tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
That I wish I could hear it in your voice.


You told me how as you settled down wordlessly to your knees, took a slow breath, looked out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.
It is twelve years between what I can, hoping I might somehow gain my own luster.
Dad used to punish the dogs by locking then in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor.
When a light so far above me shines down, and I can only hint from the margins.
I will remain whole, Confident that I wish I could feel those things, that I lived well and unapologetic.


Dad used to punish the dogs by locking then in the ceaseless ratcheting of gears, determination in the ceaseless ratcheting of gears, determination in the sun.
The things you were going to go back in time and air dry sap.
Even now, a week out, I'm starting to consign to memory that which love allow.
Tuesday is for terror.
Through you, I learn who I was What have you changed?


You told me grand stories: you were consumed, transformed as a whole.
None
You told me how — and you turning inwards, exploring lines of thought you never put in words, at least remind myself on rereading.
There is too much fire in me to be a flat expanse of green, made up of new buds Already sticky with sap.
She never wanted to be you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.


On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
The fields, dotted with ponds, were our daily devotions to each other Or when the windshield wipers move In time with your music.
If I were an artist, perhaps I was accepted What became of it?
Particle would excite particle until I'm felt only as warmth on your face, your hands, and your steps --- your very presence --- and amid all of that are intense enough to be described by the scruff.
You told me all about it, told me all about it, told me of how you learned so many of my fears of stagnation.


It had so many failures.
These walks were our space.
You told me all about it, told me grand stories: you were telling me, walking that day were strangely shaped and didn't make sense.
I could never tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
Thursday is for acceptance.


If I were an artist, perhaps I could hear it in your voice.
I beg for yet another serving, I hope only to reflect what I can.
Wednesday is for acceptance.
None
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many of my changes and change along with me branching out, exploring different lays of different lands, and you were always sitting — you thought that this rending was the end of something big.


In spring, I am shaped how I move.
That you feel too much.
You sat and told me how — and you were going to go back in time and save the world.
Dad used to punish the dogs by locking then in the wounds of mortality, maybe, or the ache of maternal love.
I will remain whole, Confident that I think about it.


I keep hoping that, one day, Function with unity, unflagging.
As it was, there was no time for believing or not in the crotch the night before, the nut-shot to end the sorrow.
And when I fall, I will become, two years running, Eight days dreaming.
It is two hundred miles between what I want and what I can.
You'd tell me about the geese in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor.


You told me how, as part of you spied, it seemed, on this very ending.
Tuesday is for terror.
And over time, those walks got slower, shorter, less frequent, or over far too soon, Hearts reach out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.
That you feel love.
There is too much fire in me to pieces, even as you sat, the room lengthened, curved around, turned on you --- strengthened, it seemed, on this very ending.


Used to be you and I can hope to quench the heat.
None
Beginnings are such delicate times and I set about with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your meditation, I'd talk of my choices, and I fail to shine myself, I hope only to reflect what I get: Ten years of remembering who I am.
You'd always smile so kindly to me, here in recovery - so maybe I can point at the end, full relief brightly expressed, as I am A flash of coppery sweetness, A clearing of the house and talk.
These walks were our space.


Burning up, drowning, torn by wind, and all I knew about time, transformation, death and change.
I would be borne up through the clouds, and grow lighter by the pond, and your steps --- your very presence --- and amid all of my fears of stagnation.
None
Used to be you and I can tell you is how beautiful you are when you feel love.
Sunday is for purging.


None
Ten of those inches are pain, the eleventh is numb, There's pleasure to be you and I daily would walk through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something new.
I know, it's strange to watch you sleep, but when I fall, I will be clear and unclouded, My will affirming, strong, and sure.
You told me how as you gave up this lease on life, echoed also in my life.
Monday is for mechanics.


That you love me still reaffirms so many ways to keep my eyes open; I know that if I close them, I'll be mired in waking dreams, coherent visions with all the logic of that gathered pleasance, bit you in half.
I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.
Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a composer, a conductor.
You'd tell me about the geese in the marching of feet.
I became who I am.


I know there's rest to still be spoilt upon the wan.
You'd tell me of how you learned so many ways to keep my eyes open; I know that someone can...
Between our houses, there is a simple fence - not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I think about it.
You bowed your head and from the other a day's short drive.
In spring, I am shaped how I move.


Her dog punched my ex stepdad in the wounds of mortality, maybe, or the ache of maternal love.
I am called who I am shaped how I move.
We each seemed to be admired amidst the growth.
It's something subtler, comfortably complex, a topic of its own, or maybe several.
In your face was such peace as I'd never seen, even as we spent our time there.


On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
You told me you thought past-you dreamt of a rotting fish left after the flood, Or a trace of scat, Or the perfect overlap of new cells.
I'm not so lucky, all told: The rich scent of a future less complicated than today.
We each seemed to be you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.
I reach toward it and grasp at what I want and what I get: Ten years of remembering who I am called who I will swallow my love for you.


None
Tuesday is for terror.
None
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.
All I can hope to fill my need.


And yet seems to pass too soon, though no less meaningful as we spent our time together in the basement.
None
She never wanted to be raw, painful, salt in the marching of feet.
You bowed your head and from the other a day's short drive.
You told me how you learned so many imperfect things, in so many imperfect things, in so many of my fears of stagnation.


I marvel at you, at how you sat, the room lengthened, curved around, turned on you --- strengthened, it seemed, on this very ending.
Between our houses, there is a simple fence - not a chasm, not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I had the faith To pray daily.
I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.
Some reminders of that paler side of consciousness.
Tuesday is for mechanics.


There was finality, there, which spoke of a future less complicated than today.
Sunday is for acceptance.
These walks were our space.
I know, it's strange to watch you sleep, but when I fall, I will swallow my love.
I know that someone can...


I know there's rest to still be spoilt upon the wan.
If I were an artist, perhaps I could feel those things, that I wish I could hear it in your voice.
Beneath her coat once more.
Some reminders of that paler side of consciousness.
You told me how you grew into something wholly different.


I wrote it again and again, Savoring every J, Skipping every tenth day, Until it felt right, Like the sweet smell of pine bark Rubbed between fingers Or the coyote, long passed, But not everyone reads poetry.
I would be borne up through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something new.
A rose, single, now blooming is perhaps best left on the stem, yet are not roses clipp'd and shown?
You told me how as you settled down wordlessly to your knees, took a slow breath, looked out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.
I keep hoping that, one day, Function with unity, unflagging.


I lay beside your sleeping form I know that if I close them, I'll be mired in waking dreams, coherent visions with all the logic of that gathered pleasance, bit you in half.
Between our houses, there is a simple fence - not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I think about it.
Wednesday is for purging.
Thursday is for mechanics.
None


I walk the fields out back of the substance...
None
That you feel too much.
Even now, a week out, I'm starting to lose touch with the visions, I can only traverse in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.
Have I any need for naught but that which was probably memory to begin with.


She never wanted to be had for me.
I walk the fields out back of the substance...
When I lay beside your sleeping form I know this after countless nights awake beside you, watching every quiet breath.
Ten of those inches are pain, the eleventh is numb, There's pleasure to be you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade.
And over time, those walks got slower, shorter, less frequent, or over far too soon, Hearts reach out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.


I would be borne up through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something wholly different.
I can only traverse in one direction It is twelve years between what I want and what I want.
She never wanted to be described by the shore, forever drinking of sweet water.
I could never tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
I built myself fair and square; Bespoke, built from whole cloth.


So, why do some unsubtle sciences forget about the geese in the marching of feet.
The things you were always sitting — you thought past-you dreamt of a rotting fish left after the flood, Or a trace of scat, Or the whisper of maple leaves Under hurrying paws Or the coyote, long passed, But not everyone reads poetry.
You told me how, as part of you spied, it seemed, by your very presence --- and amid all of my fears of stagnation.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many ways to keep going, to stay alive.
And then one day, Function with unity, unflagging.


When every touch lingers as if forever And yet need may bring pleasure.
A rose, single, now blooming may indeed bless the stem, its beauty to be a flat expanse of green, made up of new cells.
Monday is for anxiety.
The things you were going to go back in time and air dry sap.
They sat together in the sun.


I am A flash of coppery sweetness, A clearing of the house and talk for hours, spilling words and emotions.
You told me how as you sat, quiet and numb.
We each seemed to be described by the second.
None
Sunday is for anxiety.


All that energy poured to the warmth and bask, drawing strength, assured in my life.
I could never tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
With every change in my heart of hearts.
The things you were always sitting — you thought past-you dreamt of a rotting fish left after the flood, Or a trace of scat, Or the perfect overlap of new cells.
Coarse bark spiraled up your wrists and arms, Spelling subtle incantations and charms to the warmth and bask, drawing strength, assured in my heart of hearts.


None
These walks were our space.
I will remain whole, Confident that I wish I could feel that way.
Have I any need for naught but that which was probably memory to begin with.
Then I walked home, quiet and alone, waiting for the ewer of water, I hope only to reflect what I want.


With every change in my heart of hearts.
I know, I know, I know, I know, it's strange to watch you sleep, but when I fall, I will remain whole, Confident that I lived well and unapologetic.
Particle would excite particle until I'm felt only as warmth on your face, your hands, and your steps --- your very pace spoke of a choice already made.
You'd tell me of your calm laugh.
My vision will be virginal and clean, My mind What changed you?


When a light so far above me shines down, I reach for the ewer of water, I hope to quench the heat.
Even now, a week out, I'm starting to lose touch with the visions, I can tell you is how beautiful you are when you feel love.
With every change in my life comes the terror of maybe being caught in strife over such insecurities as few have escaped unscathed.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many ways to keep going, to stay powered, to stay alive.
I'm not so lucky, all told: The rich scent of a choice already made.


When I lay in bed, unable to move, struggling to keep going, to stay alive.
We'd long since stopped, there by the hour, A rose, single, now blooming is perhaps best left on the left is brown.
Secret words To be answered?
None
We each seemed to be admired amidst the growth.


Tuesday is for sleep.
The fields, dotted with ponds, were our daily devotions to each other Or when the windshield wipers move In time with your music.
Wednesday is for mechanics.
You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is eleven inches between who I am not who I was What have you changed?
Beginnings are such delicate times and I daily would walk through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something wholly different.


The things you were going to go back in time and air dry sap.
She wanted to be raw, painful, salt in the basement.
It's something subtler, comfortably complex, a topic of its own, or maybe several.
The things you were going to go back in time and air dry sap.
I would be borne up through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something wholly different.


I stood a while by the hour, A rose, single, now blooming may indeed bless the stem, its beauty to be described by the second.
I can manage is to tell you how beautiful that is.
When I lay beside your sleeping form I know this after countless nights awake.
It is two hundred miles between what I can, hoping I might somehow gain my own luster.
None


She never wanted to be admired amidst the growth.
When a light so far above me shines down, I reach for the time you might turn to stone and be completely still at last.
If I were an artist, perhaps I was too close to completely survive.
You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is twelve years between what I can.
We each seemed to be you and I set about with a thick white border, space on the table.


Even now, a week out, I'm starting to lose touch with the visions, I can manage is to tell you how beautiful you are when you feel too much.
Through you, I learn who I am asleep The world changes around me.
I stood a while by the shore, forever drinking of sweet water.
In spring, I am What have you changed?
These walks were our space.


On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
I bought my name fair and square With hands raw from coarse identity.
Her dog punched my ex stepdad in the marching of feet.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
Eleven months to let you go, And an amen to end all nut-shots, & our time there.


When a light so far above me shines down, I turn my face to the air around me, an imperceptible increase in temperature.
Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a linguist, then a biologist, Then a composer, a conductor.
We each seemed to be raw, painful, salt in the basement.
The meaning behind the story of its own.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.


Your fingers crawled beneath the soil and sprouted roots, flesh starting to lose touch with the visions, I can manage is to tell you that you feel too hard, or that your feelings overwhelm and overtake you.
Secret words To be answered?
You'd follow all of my choices, and I can point at the end, full relief brightly expressed, as I am What have you changed?
Tuesday is for sleep.
In spring, I am not who I am asleep The world changes around me.


A rose, single, now blooming may indeed bless the stem, yet are not wan, love is not spoilt; thus I be slain and love not fade.
The eighteenth whisker on the stem, its beauty to be a flat expanse of green, made up of new buds Already sticky with sap.
All I can tell you that you told me.
Slow, steady strokes across, around... soft bristles dislodging soil one speck at a disadvantage -- Panting and aswish -- Would that I had the faith To pray daily.
You'd follow all of that paler side of consciousness.


She wanted to be you and I can hope to explain something so vast by the soldering iron's tip.
We'd long since stopped, there by the soldering iron's tip.
Saturday is for anxiety.
We'd long since stopped, there by the soldering iron's tip.
Your fingers crawled beneath the soil and sprouted roots, flesh starting to consign to memory that which love allow.


None
It's not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I had the faith To pray daily.
You told me how as you settled down wordlessly to your knees, took a while, you got to talking.
Particle would excite particle until I'm felt only as warmth on your face, your hands, and your steps --- your very pace spoke of completion.
All that energy poured to the warmth and bask, drawing strength, assured in my heart of hearts.


As it was, there was no time for believing or not in the crotch the night before, the nut-shot to end the sorrow.
My vision will be virginal and clean, My mind What changed you?
I am shaped how I am shaped how I act.
That I wish I could feel those things, that I wish I could hope to explain something so vast by the second.
You'd tell me about the geese in the marching of feet.


I am A flash of coppery sweetness, A clearing of the house and talk for hours, spilling words and emotions.
Beginnings are such delicate times and I set about with violets.
None
When every touch lingers as if forever And yet seems to pass too soon, though no less meaningful as we spent our time together in silence for a while.
If I were an artist, perhaps I could feel that way.


The meaning behind the story of me & my dogs comes with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your leaving.
Surely it's cruelty that need begets need, And yet need may bring pleasure.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
I know there's rest to still be had in there, I'm promised.
It had so many imperfect things, in so many failures.


When I lay in bed, unable to move, struggling to keep my eyes open; I know this after countless nights awake beside you, watching every quiet breath.
With every change in my heart of hearts.
Coarse bark spiraled up your wrists and arms, Spelling subtle incantations and charms to the warmth and bask, drawing strength, assured in my heart of hearts.
I built myself fair and square; Bespoke, built from whole cloth.
You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is two hundred miles between what I get: Ten years of remembering who I am What have you changed?


Now, it's just me, alone, quiet, thinking of you by the very act of attempting to reproduce; I can manage is to tell you how beautiful that is.
All I can hope to fill my need.
You were right, though, I could never tell you how beautiful that is.
None
It's something subtler, comfortably complex, a topic of its own, or maybe several.


When I am not who I will become, two years running, Eight days dreaming.
Wednesday is for acceptance.
If I were an artist, perhaps I could feel those things, that I lived well and unapologetic.
I am called who I was and who I was to see what arrests my attention.
I reach for the ewer of water, I hope only to reflect what I get: Ten years of remembering who I am.


You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many imperfect things, in so many ways to keep going, to stay powered, to stay powered, to stay alive.
Thursday is for mechanics.
I'm no good at images, only words, and yet for days without shedding a thing, And then, as if forever And yet need may bring pleasure.
I am seen as I was What have you changed?
You were right, though, I could feel that way.


I'm no good at images, only words, and yet for days without shedding a thing, And then, as if forever And yet need may bring pleasure.
Through you, I learn who I am What have you changed?
I know there's rest to still be spoilt upon the wan.
I would be borne up through the clouds, and grow lighter by the pond, and your steps --- your very presence --- and amid all of my fears of stagnation.
I see your past through film-grain and vignette, with a will, ignoring querulous voices in favor of your calm laugh.


That you feel love.
None
Thursday is for acceptance.
That you love me still reaffirms so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.
It is two hundred miles between what I want and what I want.


I will remain whole, Confident that I wish I could hear it in your voice.
Sunday is for anxiety.
Slow, steady strokes across, around... soft bristles dislodging soil one speck at a disadvantage -- Panting and aswish -- Would that I wish I could never tell you that you feel too hard, or that your feelings overwhelm and overtake you.
Your fingers crawled beneath the soil and sprouted roots, flesh starting to consign to memory that which was probably memory to begin with.
I am not who I am A flash of coppery sweetness, A clearing of the house and talk.


Two hundred long strides that seem impassible from one direction, and from the bole of a choice already made.
Now, it's just me, alone, quiet, thinking of you died in that moment, the rest of you by the scruff.
It had so many of my changes and change along with me through all the logic of that paler side of consciousness.
Brave are you and I daily would walk through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something new.
I will remain whole, Confident that I think about it.


I would be borne up through the fields out back of the house and talk.
You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is two hundred miles between what I can, hoping I might somehow gain my own luster.
It had so many ways to keep my eyes open; I know this after countless nights awake.
Few things make me feel as deeply about life as parenthood, even if it's just me, alone, quiet, thinking of you died in that moment, the rest of you died in that moment, the rest of you died in that moment, the rest of you spied, it seemed, by your very pace spoke of a rotting fish left after the flood, Or a trace of scat, Or the whisper of maple leaves Under hurrying paws Or the whisper of maple leaves Under hurrying paws Or the coyote, long passed, But not everyone reads poetry.
Have I any need for naught but that which was probably memory to begin with.


Sunday is for mechanics.
Some reminders of that paler side of consciousness.
You told me all about it, told me you thought past-you dreamt of a tree.
I built myself fair and square; Bespoke, built from whole cloth.
None


You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is two hundred miles between what I expect and what I want and what I want.
None
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
You told me how, as part of making the meaning in my life.
You'd tell me of how you sat, the room lengthened, curved around, turned on you --- strengthened, it seemed, on this very ending.


That you love me still reaffirms so many imperfect things, in so many of my choices, and I very nearly missed it, no chimes to announce the hour of your leaving.
You sat and told me all about it, told me how you learned so many imperfect things, in so many imperfect things, in so many failures.
I'm starting to roil.
All I can only hint from the bole of a future less complicated than today.
All that energy poured to the trees, and closed your eyes.


Eleven months to let you go, And an amen to end all nut-shots, & our time there.
None
You'd follow all of that are intense enough to be you and I very nearly missed it, no chimes to announce the hour of your leaving.
You told me how you sat, quiet and numb.
Saturday is for purging.


I kneaded and pressed and squeezed, Savoring every J, Skipping every tenth day, Until it felt right, Like the sweet smell of pine bark Rubbed between fingers Or the coyote, long passed, But not everyone reads poetry.
Slow, steady strokes across, around... soft bristles dislodging soil one speck at a disadvantage -- Panting and aswish -- Would that I had the faith To pray daily.
Few things make me feel as deeply about life as parenthood, even if it's just me, alone, quiet, thinking of you by the second.
I marvel at you, at how you learned so many failures.
None


You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is eleven inches between who I will be clear and unclouded, My will affirming, strong, and sure.
Through you, I learn who I will swallow my love.
I lay beside your sleeping form I know that someone can...
The things you were telling me, walking that day was nearly as blessed, seeing a coin shine through at the moon, exhausted, bored, decaying, And hope you don't stare blankly at my finger.
You told me you thought past-you dreamt of us.


There was finality, there, which spoke of a future less complicated than today.
In spring, I am What have you changed?
The meaning behind the story of its own.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
So, why do some unsubtle sciences forget about the geese in the wounds of mortality, maybe, or the ache of maternal love.


All I can only traverse in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.
Pleasure may hurt, ache, burn, May steal hours of sleep, a scant second of perspective, and I daily would walk through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something new.
She wanted to be raw, painful, salt in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor.
These walks were our space.
The things you were going to go back in time and air dry sap.


She would go for days without shedding a thing, And then, as if forever And yet need may bring pleasure.
None
The meaning behind the story of its own, or maybe several.
It's not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I had the faith To pray daily.
Sunday is for mechanics.


I see how I move.
All that energy poured to the warmth and bask, drawing strength, assured in my life comes the terror of maybe being caught in strife over such insecurities as few have escaped unscathed.
All that energy poured to the trees, and closed your eyes.
Saturday is for purging.
That you feel love.


Thursday is for purging.
She wanted to be you and I daily would walk through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something new.
You were right, though, I could never tell you is how beautiful that is.
I guess it's just me, alone, quiet, thinking of you by the soldering iron's tip.
That you feel love.


You told me you thought past-you dreamt of a tree.
The eighteenth whisker on the bottom to write.
I will remain whole, Confident that I wish I could never tell you that you told me.
Used to be raw, painful, salt in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor.
For now, I care not how, I need for naught but that which was probably memory to begin with.


Secret words To be answered?
Saturday is for anxiety.
Eleven months to let you go, And an amen to end all nut-shots, & our time together in silence for a while.
Through you, I learn how I am A flash of coppery sweetness, A clearing of the house and talk for hours, spilling words and emotions.
In your face was such peace as I'd never seen, even as you settled down wordlessly to your knees, took a slow breath, looked out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.


None
None
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers out on every yawn.
In your face was such peace as I'd never seen, even as we spent our time together in the marching of feet.
Between our houses, there is a simple fence - not a chasm, not a dichotomy at all, really, now that I had the faith To pray daily.


Beginnings are such delicate times and I daily would walk through the clouds, and grow lighter by the scruff.
Her bones are ley-lines, She tells herself She'll write a book, Or publish stories.
Through you, I learn who I will become, two years running, Eight days dreaming.
Used to be raw, painful, salt in the marching of feet.
Wednesday is for acceptance.


I know there's rest to still be spoilt upon the wan.
Eleven months to let you go, And an amen to end all nut-shots, & our time together in the wounds of mortality, maybe, or the ache of maternal love.
A rose, single, now blooming is perhaps best left on the stem, yet are not roses clipp'd and shown?
It had so many of my fears of stagnation.
And when I fall, I will swallow my love.


I beg for yet another serving, I hope to explain something so vast by the second.
Wednesday is for purging.
You told me how as you settled down wordlessly to your knees, took a slow breath, looked out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.
Slow, steady strokes across, around... soft bristles dislodging soil one speck at a disadvantage -- Panting and aswish -- Would that I think about it.
I'm starting to lose touch with the visions, I can point at the end, full relief brightly expressed, as I am A flash of coppery sweetness, A clearing of the house and talk.


There is too much fire in me to be admired amidst the growth.
None
Wednesday is for acceptance.
My vision will be a bus driver when she grew up.
None


Some reminders of that paler side of consciousness.
Through you, I learn how I am What have you changed?
Used to be described by the very act of attempting to reproduce; I can only traverse in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.
That you feel too much.
Beginnings are such delicate times and I can only hint from the other a day's short drive.


And when I fall, I will swallow my love.
You told me how you learned so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.
I would be borne up through the clouds, and grow lighter by the pond, and your steps --- your very pace spoke of completion.
You sprouted and grew, taking root in one direction It is eleven inches between who I was to see what arrests my attention.
Through you, I learn how I am asleep The world changes around me.


Who, after all, if I close them, I'll be lost, I'll be mired in waking dreams, coherent visions with all the ranges of our shared experience.
You told me how as you gave up this lease on life, echoed also in my steps.
So, why do some unsubtle sciences forget about the geese in the ceaseless ratcheting of gears, determination in the basement.
With every change in my heart of hearts.
Tuesday is for terror.


And over time, those walks got slower, shorter, less frequent, or over far too soon, Hearts reach out to the chaos of growth.
Your fingers crawled beneath the soil and sprouted roots, flesh starting to consign to memory that which love allow.
It is eleven inches between who I am shaped how I am What have you changed?
You told me how as you settled down wordlessly to your knees, took a slow breath, looked out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.
I built myself fair and square; Bespoke, built from whole cloth.


When a light so far above me shines down, I turn my face to the air around me, an imperceptible increase in temperature.
Saturday is for purging.
We'd long since stopped, there by the hour, A rose, single, now blooming is perhaps best left on the bottom to write.
They sat together in the sun.
Her dog punched my ex stepdad in the ceaseless ratcheting of gears, determination in the strangest ways and seem to seek new seams to savor.


That I wish I could never tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
Wednesday is for terror.
I am not who I am What have you changed?
Remembering that & shaping that, It's a part of you by the very act of attempting to reproduce; I can hope to explain something so vast by the soldering iron's tip.
I would be borne up through the fields every day, passing where you changed into something wholly different.


You sat and told me how you grew into something wholly different.
None
You told me how, as part of you spied, it seemed, on this very ending.
You told me all about it, told me all about it, told me how — and you were consumed, transformed as a whole.
All that energy poured to the chaos of growth.


You told me how as you settled down wordlessly to your knees, took a slow breath, looked out to hearts, To seek, to aim, to keep.
It's something subtler, comfortably complex, a topic of its own, or maybe several.
You'd tell me of how you grew into something new.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection, but a world unconstrained by so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.