to linger over our perfection
***
Today the library was having a book sale. I bought five. I am thrilled. I am also now behind on my reading. All of the books and projects pile into folders and stacks. The words against the grain linger on my tongue.
Amiss, I feel that. Perhaps, again, as always these days, it is the annual circadian rhythm that takes me back to places of emotion. I have set a standard that is within reach yet I watch my eclipse. The cold has overtaken me, it is almost winter.
**
I have suitors: those who would presume to know me; an other whom I adore. It gets lost in language. I am, again, against the grain. I wonder if they would like me in deep disguise. More precisely I wonder if they could help outfit the disguise, help refine the longing.
*
It is now later than I would like; I have a stack of As to keep in line and the clock seems unwilling to wait for me.
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