Welcome back to Wednesday.

Crispy little lexis falling from fingertips,
Because it's deemed dangerous if the
Tongue gets too involved.
Then it's been processed, oh yes,
Frilly and meak in a bloodless massacre
Of denial and wonderment;
Is it still love if you take away the title?
If you're truly fighting against it this time?
But still I ponder, if I'm still fonder,
If I'd still wander if your index curled at
Me. You hear little lexis even if I don't
Share it with the molecules of the earth,
You faddy young man of blue and white,
At least for tonight, with brown toes and
No looking glass to hide your face,
I fear I am in the same place,
The same place where I have resided
For many a year gone by, only now
I tell myself that you're floral aura has
No power, you flower of peachy black.
Where am I?
You're losing the reception.
The sound crackles.
The picture blurs.
I made sure of it this time.
I am frightened.

Glottal.

How can you explain a feeling like this?

An ethereal substance of intangible dust like this.

It's a clogging of the heart to the soft palette,

Caused not by a real something.

It's so there that it can be nothing but there,

But yet there is nothing there in reality. 

It is a memory stuck in my throat,

A message in a bottle locked away,

With a sacred master key for my body,

That you will keep with you since I once gave it to you.

May the fourth be with you.

This is possibly a record,
It's been five sets of 30ish,
But I can't deny the correlation,
You are the fuel of the phalanges,
You, with your broken promise
And glittering face of pretense,
Or so it seems to me,
Because I know how you crumbled,
And longed for a faith of your own,
And whispered that it was never real.
But what do I know?
I thought you'd be using just one knee today.
What a difference a threat makes.