What stumble has been caught before, where the axis grinds - a finger slipped at the enamel join and hold fast - an early love, one with no name. Falling for the first time, enjoined and entreatied. Talk of the heavy stuff of which these sounds are made, a meaty broth. Alarm belongs to itself - you chew and chew the murky dark. A fogged-vase pinioned in the clamp - a forcemeat of form's retort.
Know your gap-toothed sleepy spit-drooled moments, calm where the psyche bleeds our beaten cooled bile. We're lipped, interlocking (think of those woodworking joints - tongue & groove, interleaved two of four bar nothing. Interloving (the knowledge of her own cabalistic apparition).
You'll turn your back on me, twisting (wrecking) the sheets about you, a miasma gripped fierce. Drifting off w/ book in hand will hold that thing tight as a prayer or a copper eye-coin, ferry-wage.
Waking (walking?) half-dreamt yourself, lacking definite form, will drift into a full embrace as if meeting a challenge or stepping into the ring - a falling body, controlled by a bounded pull, gravity's rainbow - (the rocket's arc downards, deathwards) - and you claim a quotidian semblance in those uncalm dreamsets.
Buckminsterfullerene. You know how to count the beads of sweat that mangle her brow, a path from the fragile frame gripping down comfort, the cushioned swell at the content arm's crux. Legs pelting their own alarm, drawn up, a ball in the half-light. Sheets' armour. Caught up an aspect or angle, what have the hours embellished in you (or brought bellic)?
If I caught the forcemeat in a pinioned flask I'd have had time to dismay, to flog it for its blame or torpor - the element is observed, a twisting of the sheets heralding calm as a hand subsides. The clubbing withdraws. A way to allow slight waking and to observe how it has been of help. Flooded you with reason at the lid's crack tiding, or with that hand grip soothe. In nights the elison is enough and bodes. Bide awhile, there's a call to earlier times or the dialect of a former self 'slip' selvedge - one can comment on that which has come unravelled, the edging. Th threadworn selvedge sutured.
The dark matter is welling at the softer tissue and rendering her impossible form supple.
