This is a very true story about a magic worm. His name was Wimmiin.
One day he fell into a toilet and drowned. Being magic, he thought he would be able to swim, unlike most worms.
He was wrong.
He just drowned.
I slept in my bed last night.
It was good.
After my conversation with you I went for a long jog along the track. Then I came home and went to my haircut and colour. My hair is now very black.
This could be good or black.
I will wear my hair to the airport when I come to meet you.
What colors of paint did you choose? And did the blueberries go down well with the water, on the sand? I find nothing tastes as good as oranges at half time, so I do not fully appreciate your blueberries. I probably missed the first five minutes of our conversation this morning as my mind was not yet awake, but oh it is so nice to start the day off by having a nice chat with you.
I have also started a story for you:
Once upon a time, a gargoyle found himself made flesh and pale in the rocky world. I will finish it for you when we go away; when we lie in that warm place.
I’ll whisper in the shell of your ear the sussurus of a life – like a river bed, like a whirlwind.
Semi-reclined, this skin sobbing salt water
Arid air agitated and abrasive against
that tallowy tan
For fabulous dusk’s cool silence and,
Her thirty billion twinkling eyes
In a dream you waited to drink.
In that heat you shuddered
(alone and uncovered)
In my dream you rose up, and met me
Waiting, and impatient, at Gobi