les timbres.

he spoke her dialect...upside down maps and cartographical grammar. smiles that crossed two dimensions in blue-lined rivers alongside the elevations of cryptic slang.

could you promise that?

dialogue long dispersed beneath eyelids...oh those sleepy nostalgia sunrises...

if only for the one day where rest rises earlier than fatigue.

and embraces were sent more through the mail.

so blunt force. shakes head up and down signals yes. with a smirk.

i cannot hang with that.

ifs.

the gypsy lady grabbed my hand the other day, begging to read my fortune in the lines of the palm for five dollars. i agreed, it is a fool who rejects the wishes of a witch. she ran her finger throughout the curves and crevices and hollered down at me. my palm was empty. blank. she handed me back my money and walked away.