From leering heights I stole a glance at perpetuity. Looking past the spotlight pall and drawing on a stickly whim, half my calm finesse wound left in uttered senseless probings. Little in the fall of time.
Half past noon, fallopian distraction, possibly a riddle of mimeographed proportions. The wind strolled by.
A canary announced your arrival. As the circumspect discretion of a curving phrase, lingering in tepid sunlight, a soft smile.