our conversations have become nothing but syllables

beneath tree’s thighs brush ceilings, and our conversations have dwindled down to nothing. I am longing fo someone who can keep up with

who knows.

and we can draw each others faces as megan is always suggesting. but you were always charging some unspeakable cost per hour, to partake in you.

as if painting was another form or prostitution. he was asking, “would you want to be sketched naked?” but was saying it so strange, like nekked. I miss having something stable to latch onto. he was something more of stone and water, you resembling a doughy pie crust.

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