words, wanting, waiting

Hello you. I'm somewhat drunk but not so horribly that I'm unable to string two or three words together. Guess you could say I'm just having thoughts of a particular girl in a particular place in a particular time, thoughts of someone who can't hide from me and who I could never hide from, a girl with piercing, getting vision, eyes that penetrate and read, ears that perk to the proper wavelengths, a nose that senses the smell-worthy impulses of a fool, a set of hands that seek the poetry of fingertips, a heart paved with yellow brick, a girl who is right now mummified under white sheets of comfort, soft fabrics that drape to the shape pulled just to her nape, who breathes soft ribbons of air into and out of her lungs, who will wake up with crusty-cornered eyes, who will wake to the vanishing broth of depleted dreams, and who will struggle with the weight of her mightiness, unsure how to wield it, unsure how to hold it in poise, how to pose against the noise, how to grip the hammer and spark the anvil, she knows how to scream at the clouds but she cannot clear them from her search for constellations and comets; she shouts true and honest and with just the right amount of silence, and for this she is rewarded with times and finds of pleasings seams, shapes from the heavens that trickle softly down over the skin, moisturizes the soul. She is a beast and a bastion, and she knows only the notion of being good-willed, good-hearted, hard-won, iron-wrought, slip-fingered, furrowed meanderings of a peaceful soul in a world of soup and lava.