Strange, how it is, going to a true bachelor’s house and feeling the air humping around. The invisibility of an individual’s current completely confound because there’s (always) the mission of gaining ground. Or at least, attempt to pretend to follow along the trend?
Stepping in quite shallow and scend, to view the moonlighting lanterns display across the pad. I grow anxious like a deadbeat dad, in knowing, this night is only meant to be a fad and whatever happens good or bad. I’m mature enough to know how to throw shit back and put it on the regret tab.
Still I can’t help but take note how there weren’t any sight of photographs to determine the familiarity or strangeness of people’s faces or what their race is. Interesting, how deep space is even in the heart and bundles of mixed embraces.
Chairs on the Terrence. Cheap thrills like clearance. My hand fills up with a social drinker’s agenda (although I’m not proud of myself in this moment) and it would behoove me not to treat this like an errand. But like a woman to flashy things I want to sleep with this baron. Otherwise my fantasies would distract me barren.
And like him, I have a good hand and an even better pokerface he’ll never read. It’s the reason why two of us could play this game where intimacy isn’t intimacy only greed that bleeds.