messages coming-in after midnight…long after reading pieces of Mailer..An American Dream…how I loved that Southern songstress…
neither lover wanting to call the other out…a showing of the hand dealt…keep-it lite boy….keep-it lite…don’t let her see ya sweat…
and alone in a dimmed lamp room words are placed on a page to be sent…in a matter of seconds…the truest of thoughts…or…concealed ideas…
to wear a disguise or not…to be seen as the persued…not the persuer…but wanting a catch on the end of the line…always waiting ashore….
I have no bait to throw…just words…mere words and the ability to play it cool when cool is called-for….and…it is always called-for….
the heart on the sleeve is a dangerous target…never moving…never hiding…never unseen….how could one miss?
multi-layers are required…love is not for the weary….it never was..