Oh to the simple minded (forgive me, love... I just gotta)

Dream
Because that is all you can do.
You cannot paint landscapes with your tongue; you can never draw in abstract... not even with your snot as you accidentally sneeze on a canvas.
See how you create imagery?
It is not enough to have self-confidence (for when you build an empire with pride and self-confidence, the walls will crumble like rice cake --- and my mouth will be the earthquake that will chew your musings and ramblings --- and make you suffer some more.)

And I know for a fact that you will never be a good lover.
A good lover is a good writer. A good writer is someone who will always see what is beyond the trite. And you are trite.

If you see a woman's breasts, you'll see how brown the nipple is and how 'wonderful' its form is.

Whereas I will see the mammary ducts convulsing beneath her skin --- you see the wave it forms ever so slightly --- as it looks at its master. And for a split second, right before you help yourself with a mouthful, you will see the nipples stand in attention even before your spit lands on them.

Oh well... what do I expect?
A warthog does not eat anything nutritious.
Memory gap, as they say.


(Love, maybe next time, you can bring your pet sustagen?)