In Czech my mother bought:
lightpatina mercurybeads and lightfades to hang on our tree.
I felt like an import. Imported goods, among a collage or conglomeration of beat up cars, beater, broken down,
like a woman in the corner putting on her lipstick. At the time, the person who I was seeing more often than anybody else
bought a collection of rings. I was expected to wear said rings, unbeknownst to her, our communications ended there.
It is the time you devote to something that makes it so important, you become responsible forever for what you have tamed
I want to fake jazz with you, spit a little then suck it back in, like Christmas tree ornaments from countries unbeknownst to her and me. She turned the color of the avocado when I took my ring off.
Sleep doctor: “its not suitable for work, but mostly on account of the feels” I saw her more often than not, raising the skirt, God caught a glimpse: “the body is anonymous”