This glorious
wonder-lust
Oh, did you say I hadn't warned you?
What was that? I cannot hear you over the sound of
Those questions you will not dare.
Over the amplified, harmonized mutterings.
There's a question already lingering in the space between us, and the answer you're looking for is "none of the above."
Check that one, and fill in your own answer when you're ready for me to read it.
This wine is sweetly rotten, but I promised myself a drink. I promised myself that I'd only spend a little while in that limbo of feeling. Sober, I feel nothing. Drunken, I feel nothing. Is that funny? I'm not sure, either. But, occasionally, I risk making a promise, knowing I'll have to keep it. So, here I am, rotten wine and a hunger that has nothing to do with my stomach or lower, and I'm repeating the line over and over in my head, my tongue rolling without need for completed action. This glorious wonder-lust. What does that even mean? Of course I know, but let's be honest, wine makes me sleepy and it's so much nicer to be left pondering.
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