Quote:
Originally Posted by Split
...We grasped our hands, close.
Sinusoidal sobriety of a battered man, ghost. Squeaking soft,
you'd sneak me off. For ninety days a year he'd be your weekend haunt.
That sidled grin, covered in the lie of a jersey cotton sleeve.
It invites you in, trusting eyes of a butterfly cupping a gutted wing...
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clever scheme.. the whole thing, but in particular i noticed that part ^
well done on the extended metaphor thingy