Patterns

Like silk.That blush of color, a sparkle in the light; it could have been night, I don't remember. Something. Maybe you just poked me inside, I'm allowed great liberty with an elbow. Maybe it was the cat, or trailing my tongue along your pelvic bones, who knows? I'm allowed great liberty, because I'm a nice guy and I get things done; occasionally I get a small sample of beer, in a coffee cup, to see what I think. It could get me fired, so I spit it out, and talk about hops; where they grow, how they grow, what we might graph on them. I know too much about this. I should recuse myself. But I can't. This is what I'm a part of, that world, out there. Kick me in the nuts or welcome me as part of the family, here I am. Listen, I don't hear well anymore, so you should make sign. A single index finger means you get the point, two fingers means two guys with guns, and I hit the floor, shooting where I think the shots are coming from. Assume a fetal pose under a desk. I have to finish this paragraph tomorrow. If I don't, it would mean I spend way too much time thinking about you. Which, of course, I do; what did I say recently, writing is hard work. I've dug ditches, and post holes, but nothing prepared me for writing you.