...You can step outside your little world/You can talk to a pretty girl/She's everything you dream about/But don't fall in love...
The Adkins Credo:
Mmmmeeat. Meeat. Meat!
Flash Poetry, written on the spot, to suit an occasion, or a name. I did JILL recently, while drunk, don't remember it at all, pity.
Language. A beautiful thing. Even when being argued over. Or perhaps especially.
He smells good.
He walks away. Again, I am illogically injured by his indifference. He used to find me as beautiful as I find him. Does he love me? Undoubtedly. Will he show me? Not on your, his, or my, life.
Some things I take on faith.
"What's that clacking sound behind us, Mama?"
Only the beautiful sound of Harleys, honey. Turn and look.
There they are, hairy, gritty in German-style Harley helmets.
"I tink you got soft spots for all types o' folk, buckaroo. Drummers, cops, bikers, you name it." Is this criticism, or accolade? I do, yes, sir...for lawyers, too.
It takes a 45 degree angle, sunlight, and water droplets to create a rainbow.
It takes water, a dab of glycerin and Joy to create bubbles.