I eat whores for breakfast.


You deliver words that melt like water from a glacier, becoming insignificant upon entrance into the ocean of other softly spoken words hollowly aimed my way. Deep sea divers couldn't find depth in your diction. Not to mention the expanse, the expanse that is your back. It couldn't be achieved by Mt Everest explorers. This was a lesson, one in geography, and not at all in liquor or love, company or incandescence. This was nothing more than what it was, backs and depths and heights and never-ending plains. Theoretical; much like the horizon. Ideally.

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