the phone is always dead to me, on the away message.
my hands smell like laundry detergent and you. leaning up against washing machines, pressing ribs together. like bone highways.
sprinklers snuck up on us, our morning walk. liza's flip-flop broke...and water dripped from his eyelashes.
she scraped her pen across her throat, in fiction suicide across the room. she sneezes when we walk over grass, yet insists on lying in it with us.
palindromes taken over my mind. kiss sick. lick kill. love evol. god dog.
<3ah.lex
