the soul-occupancy of her smile

so angel wants a story, a story of how i am, how it goes, or maybe just how it all adds up or breaks apart, we write sentinel armory pages daily and this, just noting her smugness toward the un-music savvy (which is nice) and how she seems to bend light around her, i keep thinking, words flowing together are just that, two dimensional and weightless, how she makes me. sometimes i try, in sentences, paragraphs that might as well be dolled out by judges and juries about how i could say it speak or stretch it out at least long enough that it could be clear. i am not so bad at these things sometimes. so i lean in and begin tap tapping at keys night after night trying to put it all down, get it all in before time passes us by passes me by and i know know better than anything how it can and does sometimes and come back always: this here: she makes tremors of my skin just thinking about her, aches out of joy, joy out of lost mintues spent just pondering the way her hair sometimes falls into her face.

so asked, trying to make it celarer than that, i know a pointless thing when i see one.

2004-01-07 | 2:38 p.m.
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