The movie Spring Forward has a scene where they mention there's an Indian language where the word poem is the same as the word breath. Then comes the statement "maybe that's why they didn't write things down much - they're living the poem". That's the truth: when you're living the poem it's not so much about what you say but how you feel. Clocked out of the chaos and strapped on to the comet of love. Lipsticked areolas and hot monkey madness. Ferklempt and feverish at the same time. Chromatically invisible by design yet still capable of date night with a perfect pitch. Resynchronized after a long hiatus due to misapplied rescue misgivings. The family tree still reigns majestic with it's extended canopy and strong limbs. Boner appetit, mon cheri.
From FOUR years ago, this date:
Moving on, the sound of the circular saw is the sound of progress and hours from now, we're talking emerald granite around a 14 gauge sink and a smile on her face that says Life's still a Breeeze, my friend, take in all in while the blessing continues. More pregnant zone tomorrow from Dr. Red - all in the name of the game.