I found your nose in my chicken pie, and lightly sent you smoke and glassy pans and things to bake clay on. No you don’t. I’m a terrible badger of late, making bad on my lightness, my room of books, ashtrays, the precise way I move here and steer the garbage into corners. The foundations of which, you weren’t here for. It was me and jimmy hopping about it was summer we sucked ice. I wasn’t happy but I wanted nothing either. I felt helpful and suprised, and now my room is still. It feels like lens cleaner and grandma’s fan respectively, and the smoke goes long over everything making me weaker, as you said, but also more mine than I expected. I’m not sure why it’s so annoying. If I thought my job was to hold back, then fine, but lately the way we work is more geared toward regretfulness, and the soup of knowing something and stirring. I have a hard time building things inside you and you know that. I also can’t envision decisions, that must come across as well, and it’s okay take to filling the holes slow, and do them surely. But before that, the gnats. My heater keeps turning off. I thought the doll was a texas fetish and I was wrong about that. I also thought too through our final argument, and I wanted to already have driven home, all asides, and sit here. I don’t realize things about forgetting, because I don’t want to. I also have a kind of reserve about finishing things, this is true across the board. There’s still an imp, a kind of wishing with fingernails, and I want to dispel it. There’s whole pieces of our bodies yet to project upon and I dread it, but there’s also the sewing that understands your big maneuver. When I said ‘you don’t cover anything about me up” and such. I spoke so much of you over Christmas and seeing inside your house makes me afraid. Also walking the dog at night, the way things get smaller on the sides, and how I thrash what I want against you. There’s been no ravishing lately, I’ve noticed. But home does things like that and what I want to stay, I will. And what goes to the flourishing is a kind of a joke. I’ve noticed so many people like us, and I’m very much trying laughing now.