| | the tropic of cobbler cups (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1){kind=small} cumulonimbus) wrote, |
i looked for your eyes like a pair of lost mittens like an inflated owl floating in the indian ocean like red buttons resewn to a coat using a christmas tree needle and one of my white goat whiskers like two squirrels scared away forever. it is still the way it was, in a flooded attic full of huge homemade xylophones and an old upright piano played by resident fish. remember how, standing on a chair waist-deep in water, i would turn off the engine that made strange noises displeasing to bats?
