honeydunce

My brain, the stingy beast. Insisting on running things. Thank something for the background in waitressing—in the center of a condensation slicked tray stands teetering a heart. Submerged spout causing overflow, how large bodies of water are prone to form waves when pushed. Our cilia after loud shows, an evidence curved to reveal how we were moved.

 If I could gift you the soft sound of miso soup settling, the equal decibels of long term argument brewing(stands two across rooms, fractions). The brain, a bratty child with a bad habit of tugging for attention. No matter: when the arrow finds something to pierce, it turns into a pen.