I accused her of not knowing who she was talking to - that went about as well as you might expect. Yet with some things I remain quick, adept, and so it was diffused, put to rest. Not without damage but I will say only a small loss. Measurable but harmless.
He argues less and writes more and I say how can this be anything but an excellent development. His proclivities shame me and so here I am scratching out a few words again. Looking for what I know to be _______ - it is much the same however filled. He rattles words around his mouth now, off his tongue, breathes. Makes choices like a hyper-monk. On acid even? It is all good.
We must talk. Doctor doctor give me the news (and do not continue the lyric, a bad decision already amok - the beat would spit it out, yes, do spit). Mysteries I need explained. I have been told that I am thick sometimes and this is very true.
I will boldly suggest that the Thief has been converted into a Collector. It was a sudden change, no? Tables turned and bold met bold. What is next? (have I mentioned the insistence on decolletage has not gone unnoticed? that I chill a secret vintage? that peaches are amongst the most moist?)
They walk with backpacks and then strip and dive into my pool, airborne for elongated moments like a crashing of sympathy or symphony, you choose. They hide in ladies business attire (look in the briefcase! it is not what you think) and dress like brainy college girls and slam shots in the bars you might expect and claw their way through crowds with sharply painted nails that tickle the senses. So fine. And with a baseness that will shock all but the dullard. Or the most crude or cavalier. But screw them and open your eyes fully, see what I feel.
He is quiet now and might be sleeping. But it is more likely he be gathering: the things of noise-making, of exaltation, of declaration, of hear me. Yes that.
Aside: still you send them to inspect me? to jostle a few words?