A little to the left

Keep me
So court me
Past the afternoon

If Mormons
Can convert
After one’s passing

Then continue
To heal my body
From morning till noon

You were a night
In armour fit for a king
Aware of his mood

Sweep me on
My toes again
And read my tears

A lover’s touch
Settles nothing
Until a lover knows

Woof

Inspire me. Go on – fetch. Find me something to admire and I’ll rub under your chin until you drool. NOT THAT WAY. It’s a one way street. Fool.

Those who run aren’t as cowardly as you think. They are forced to appreciate the finer things like warming near an open fire or scrutinizing the mail.

Oh don’t worry. His bark is worse than his bite. This blood? Is from that one time his bite happened to be worse. This tear? Is from…Where did you say you were from?

Where did the fear go? Starring back isn’t usually the answer. Who will bow down first? Not this time.

Please go on.

November is over and I'm so so glad. It was a really busy November. Let us never speak of that analysing blog project ever ever again.

I was playing the New Pornographer record a certain K gave me and it rocks my socks. I especially enjoy Side A.

Also, if you send me a picture of you when you were a kid wearing some sort of head covering that would be great (like my little white hood!). I could post them and people could vote for their favourites and the winners would get many pats on their backs and all that. Make sure the subject of the email is "A Certain Hooded Picture."

Oh what fun.

What are you waiting for?

Come tell me that you love me. Under the spell of the midnight moon I will blush but you won’t be able to see. I hope to death that you remember what I look like under my mask. What if, one day, I take it off and you scream. I would die. Help me look beautiful to me. I don’t look into your eyes, hoping you can’t see the real me. My thoughts burst at the seam but if I can’t see you then you can’t see me. Right? That only worked when I was three. Forgive my subtle tongue and blabbing discontents. I feel I grieve too much for me. Who knew such an open ended family could teach a child to be so closed. Come back another day – operating hours are nine to five. Pictures make it easy – no need for a chat – frozen in time looking luxurious and cool. A gentle whisper rolls from her lips – but need not reply.