Silas Thorne's Journal

Dear my hot Japanese ex-classmate,

I lost your number.
I'd be a sheep with bleeters on
because you blur my edges,
and so I had to pull out all the live feeds
and trim the switches.

I never called.
I won't be a howling wolf then, prowling dark places,
since within the flitter-flash, your gaze,
my mind would lose its hinges.



I never called your number, lost it.
There were many too many empty O's.