As the core of the world goes up in flames (literally; figuratively), I am relaxing into things with a functioning box fan and a red bra.
These days have been odd, indeed.
From time to time, I pair myself with someone quite the opposite of me. I like to study their stitching; their routine. I think of it as a form of self restraint- my curiosity peaked by their checks and balances; the way they butter their toast.
It's only a matter of time before I daydream into the more complicated. I take a bit more time for myself to ride the anchor down to the bottom of this sea. Past the firm handshakes and punctuality; past the sports fans and socially acceptable DUIs.
During my descend, a thousand images of black, blue, purple and a pitch gray.
It is where I find home.
Above, there are the perfect haircuts of the blue eyed, blonde-haired religious children of the corn, all grown up.
Below, there are the perfect haircuts of those sable- and black-haired beauties who study and practice the most dutiful way to shine a boot.
There is a difference, after all, between one who cums in a surprise and fear of their own body, and one who familiarly taunts you with its peaks.
k.
(image: Betony Vernon The Boudoir Bible via korlaena tumblr)
