Reverend of the Tropics

When we were newer, my spirit pursued you through attics and basements and forested walks. You were much smoother – your features outgrew you sometime between when we first met and last talked. Even I can be tamed, if properly named, if the forms are in order, if you nicely explain where the breeze has since left you, what dread captors kept you away from my spirit – you’re supposed to hear it in something that science has yet to pin down.

When we are older, I am a placeholder for someone you’d like to meet one day but haven’t. You are more sadness ecstasy madness than anything ever before, adored by all and loved by none, ever the unloaded gun. I am taller by a head, with a catalogue of what I said translated into what I meant that’s meant for you but I’ve yet to send. Where are you, anyway?

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~ by perfectionatrix on February 3, 2011.

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