background noise.

fodder for instinct.

as the layering of the ones and zeroes that make up this unfeeling logic facilitates the constriction of my limbs i merely fall and watch myself do so. the indifference (read: eagerness) to my (un)controlled descent is my foil. no contrivance could be so bold as to facilitate this row. where such simple dalliances could espouse such meaning and attach such significance i would have never ventured a guess. these things come to me in trances and fall along my coat-tails, sweeping my steps, hiding the remnants of my presence. such things in these down times as your sleep-puffed face give rise to grand and rolling foothills of sticky, sugared prose which lays piled and wilting around all corners of my own bed where they are given breath and acted out nightly as torrid, tortured passion plays throughout my short reposes. at times the instinct begets instinct, a fact that remains well hidden beneath the blanket of my consciousness. as such cliches as 'too good to be true' thrusts the lilting tar of doubt into these all-too-brief and blissful trances, and as the background noise once again jolts me upright and wrests your presence from my mind's grasp i hover for a fleeting and gossamer slice of time between blissfulness and reality like that pared-down instant before a sneeze or orgasm and it's gone and my hand twitches black ink for hours.

i want your breath.