finding my stride? up on the hill, meet nacéra for tea and cookies. rue edgar poe and the jasmine is blooming. her irises have wilted, quick blossoms, they hold nothing back and die young. someone is working in the community garden and i smile at her over the tops of overgrown onions. take the stairs two by two. it's better this way. the sun hems in and out of the clouds, dropping stitches all over the place. an old woman adjusts her veil and smiles at me, she had a gold tooth. i smile, too, my silver teeth are hidden in the back, she'll never know.
they want everything, it isn't wrong, maybe i do too. something. i want some things.
correct your grammar. make it smooth. gloss it. high shine. the funny decalques of language that you cannot weed out of your lexicon. this is how i speak. this is how i wrap my mind around it. my tongue around it. there is no one sided relationship, and it takes hold of me, too. what are you doing in there? no one comes out of this untouched.
golden evenings at the canal, and the sun finally sets at ten.
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