the phone is bone dry. 

not even a dusty notification tumbleweed rumblin’ by.

straight up sand paper cactus desert storm

dehydration california drought mode dry,

and I am left a bit lonelier, 

but a whole lot more peaceful.

instead:

journal is full of hand written thoughts, mind is 

quieter, slower paced,

clearer, and I can hear myself think.

I am cracking open books again, devouring poetry, learning new words,

inspiration is finally being given a chance to unfurl,

rather than being choked out by electrical noise.

I am working my way through hours of classic composers, 

I’ve added old friends, Brahams, Sergei Prokoviev, 

and Shostakovich,

welcome to my Crosley speaker, 

please enter my ears freely and please

 stay as 

long as you’d like..

8:45am

 joy bubbled up, 

as i sipped my first few sips 

of coffee, 

(a fluffy brown sugar espresso, 

might i add) 

i watched the sun peek through the trees 

and wink right at me,

and kiss both my cheeks

with his delicious warmth. 

this is the day 

that the Lord has made, 

i will rejoice

and be glad.

explore my face, my cheeks, 

my eyes, 

measuring the length of my neck 

with kisses, 

how many?

how long?

10 kisses perhaps?

12?

make love to me 

using just your eyes

i am your pleasure island

and you are mine

be wild with me 

but hold me secure.

There was really something majestic in that horse's figure 

and in the terrible union in him of repulsive indications of

decreptitude, emphasized by the motley color of his hair, 

and his manner which expressed the self-confidence and 

calm assurance that go with beauty and strength. Like a 

living ruin he stood alone in the midst of the dewey 

meadow..

-from Kholstromer, a Horse named Yardstick, 

by Leo Tolstoy

why are you
always protecting him
why can't it be me for once
who needs protection

who is the real danger here