even though i broke it off i still thought of her often. either i think our road was loaded with frosting and sugar-coated appallingly sweet, or we both chose to stash the red flags into pocket-backs with overused handkerchiefs. but now, see:
i've got a hankering for her laying next to me, hands playing with dexterity, poking and stroking my skin as if akin to a piano key, with the propensity to elucidate and leave me lucidly attenuated from my unconventionally increasing density.
and some astrophysicists say a hole of black matter is most hazardous when it approaches the perigee of itself and a rapidly spinning adversary...
and i hope she doesn't hate me if i state i can't remember the exact date when we... oh, gee, looks like this dunce is digging a deeper ditch into which bones'll be thrown when she's done picking this old soul clean.
but after being dismembered i'll still retreat to the memories of her and me, surfing purposelessly, hurting imperfectly until the past has the audacity to act mercifully...