Mind Fuck

 Is it all just inane poetic nonsense and fast fiction? Like electric currents, poetic eshetics, and a conversationalist madly interrupted by the need to sleep, which usually leads to silence or sex or simple husky verbs and nouns and perhaps the promised poems there after but not much else, all these things collide unknown to the rider of the wave into a whirl wind of cause and effect which all began when a simple ripple was felt as wandering eyes went warm in eachothers reflections. It was instantaneous and I don't know why. I felt as if I was a thorn attatched to a rose. We could complete eachother, but in what sort of way? Novemeber is here and its getting colder. Despite my best efforts I've never been able to stay warm alone. I'm too small. So am I just looking for another blanket? Cast aside for spring and summer when I feel too free in barefeet and soft fabric to deny anyone but the sun my ultimate love. And it doesn't matter if any of it makes sense, becuase I am extraordinarily high and needed an honest realease. Words do that for you. Give you a different place to be than out loud.