leaning on the kitchen sink in a nightie. Betsey Johnson peekaboo flats snug on her feet.
garter belt, check. thigh highs, check.
nov 14th. the window is open and the warm air makes her reminiscent . of what? who?
she inhales the sunny breeze. her hair, loose around her shoulders, floats lazily in the air like a copper cloud.
peter steele's voice caresses her. she feels happy. she feels complete.
eyes closed, head turned toward the sky. mind devoid of the anxiety and misery
that's usually there
no clouds today
she loves the rain. but today the clear blue twinkling off the stars wrapped around the fence are much more.
fitting. fitting her. filling her.
she leans to look at the street when the cars speed by. waiting.
he's on his way back
on his way back home to her. his love fills the space around her. this reality is someone's dream
it must be.
heart beating out the rhythm of forever. calm peace serenity. not normal.
but neither is she.
this alien feeling of perfection is horrifying in its promise of forever. ascending.
the cosmic realm drags her to where she needs to be.
can this be tomorrow? can it be today? can it be forever?
and that's enough.