April

Wine drunk, cooking to The Cure in the kitchen. Cacthing vibes from the stormclouds slow marching by. On their mission, to who knows where, really. She sure looks pissed though. Maybe needs a good cry over small town Ohio (it's for lovers) Back to spaghetti, that I wont even eat. In the room I spend all my life keeping neat. Its better than some. Some say better than most. 'Some' guilt me too much; opinion overdose. There's an art in the air. The weathers in tune. I hear Earth soon will share its light with the moon. Protons will collide. Slight cause for ConCERN... Snap back to my stove so my sauce doesn't burn.