heartworn highways

I am looking at just boiled potatoes. I can share a porch with an old man and fantasize about his hands on my neck. We can do many things with our breath. Such as syncopate or synchronize. I think you can guess which one is better. This persons eyes begins to close. This person sleeps. It is romance. A new life comes easily after this, a growl.  

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s