Going Down on the Witch

What if I repeat myself? Islands that disallow all comfort. The argument again, which means the earlier resolution was not a resolution at all but an extension of the underlying conflict. Shall we metasticize?

The disease of conceit, did you find the cure (or is there no cure for love). Doing somersaults in the lake, fifty-five years old, still happy, this is something I want, if you want something else you'll have to wait. Raspberries coming in. Wishing I could watch you take your shirt off again.

Something refactored, something yada yada yada. Less interested in what you know than how you know it, which seems to bore people, but what can do you. Eating raw potatoes cut thin as paper. I told her my heart was a garden, she said hers was a mole, a family of moles. 

Shall we at last shift to the aphorism? I'm tired of Hansel and Gretel but they're obviously not tired of me, nor of us, so I guess I'm not done going down on the witch. You say my thoughts are not my own, I knew this forty-five years ago, what else you got. Sunlight on the milkweed, plants overwhelming us a little, God be praised. 

Masturbating at 3 a.m. to see if it will help sleep, it does but the dreams after are confusing, full of swans and belt buckles and hay bales. People who try to make you read Aesop, how easy they are to fool. What the wasp trails behind it flying away. Last kiss, last caress, et cetera.