For a tapering bravura and its co-symptom shyness several noises feature: tossing, flicking, and cooling in the barn-well and loft-wavelets until this wish is filled outside the constant playback of the featured mind. Compulsion to stringencies, work-outs that unmask regret in shoulders, an overt studiousness and resisting doziness inside certain sounds fake back against the will to deny messy general degeneracy, an overzealous mamba inside a shaky glass shack. By the time of that soft voice-fraction we're nearly breathless with feedback and awfully sweaty, hairy, mighty and swinging preparedness. Removal comes among the tents majestically, casual in its symptoms as deeds are cast sideways into divorcing groups: frothing, maniacal, jogging, and sunken, hallowed, in plenty of meaning: neither banal they sandblast outer boundaries of the imploding settlement and drive well-wishers, with grapes, back into the forest. I cannot subsist on this without you, rocks and their spicant berries strewn between fawningly. It signals rough, intensive training, an absence of hesitancy shines like water on the white frost pinnacles where blood as achieved adventure hangs rabid, about to drop. Meads covered in white are fain pregnant with care of our future. We fall about. The masque of expected delights favors royally an extension of ambition into a catalog-quality summer. Tonight, by pressing. Driving late at night the ramps look pretty, we camp under a deepened blue. Your best qualities diffuse into a camphor light whose glow narrates the fixities of this repeated, dependent, low-motion dance, unrelieved except by their ambidextrous enactment when you arrive, dying. Then it can all.