You, my tempest in a teapot:

Whirling hurricane of inconvenience.

Rest within your porcelain walls,

And cease our tireless dance.

Three-Cheese Ziti Marinara:

Frozen, diet meal, packaged in plastic.

You are really made with cheese,

Though one would never know.

The dove that nests above the door:

She’s gone now, twigs etching runes on the ground.

It’s all heaped upon the stoop,

And it is really gross.

I found many many books last night.

A treasure trove across the hall:

Mounds of golden words and gilded pages.

I find myself leafing through,

Exploring the unknown.

I overslept.

Today, I yawned myself awake:

Stretched discomfort from taut and tender limbs.

With the day at my fingers,

My clock spewed wrong numbers.

At the county faire.

At the faire we greased our friendships:

Powdered sugar clinging to us like coats.

The lights circled like halos,

We danced into the night.

 

Yes, we do have a county faire in our little semi-rural area. Yes, I nearly bought a duckling (or two; they were on sale!). Yes, funnel cake is probably the tastiest poison ever invented. All in all, it was good fun.

An open bag, crisp and salty:

The curvature of your body, magic.

I’m ever so hungry, dear,

I live, long for each bite.

 

Yeah, I’m eating Sunchips for breakfast. Which happens when you wake up twenty minutes before your shift starts at work. Whatever, Sunchips are delicious.

The New Post

I may have slack’d off for a while:

‘Tis an honest mistake, I assure you.

I forgot my username,

And my password with it.

 

Apologies to all for my intense, year-long silence. School was particularly overwhelming this year, and, on top of that, I couldn’t for the life of me remember my username, which makes it difficult to log in. I had an epiphany late last night, and you can heretofore expect sporadic, but frequent, updates.

PSA

Due to the thousands of things I insist on pursuing, this thing won’t be updated any time soon (unless Bailey wants to start up again?) It’s not that I don’t write these, or like them- it’s that my energy is being invested elsewhere. Until something changes, you can always follow my adventures at ipayraptattention.wordpress.com.

Two Preoccupations of Summer

Upon Watching Hitman

Dearest Timothy Olyphant:

You are so hot I would do you- even

with a barcode on your head.

Just don’t open your mouth.

Upon Gesturing Unwisely with Liquidy Pudding

(over White Carpet)

Oh, Chocolate stain on my floor:

Please be kind and submit to my washcloth-

I can’t afford steam cleaning.

and you are so darn brown.