Guilty. Guilty of plebian pleasures and gilded whispers. Guilty of limping through shadowed circles and exposing my soft belly for the taking. Guilty of liking it.
She was the lark, and I the loon.
but the curtains opened...
now she sings sharkly, and I am chum producing chum producing chum until the water is more salty with blood and mis-directed vascular excretion than crystal salt and diamond nature
Guilty of still liking it. Guilty of turning sharp things into soft things, and as the teeth sink in, guilty of laughing over and over again, thrashing flesh, busy fingers
I should have known to stick to cool colors. Purple. Aqua-marine. Forest greens and chocolate browns. Nature gave me a sign, a warning, a warning that I ignored. Guilty. Guilty of indulging in radiant feathers.. red, yellow, gold, Amber.
So.. birds.. bees.. stranger strangers.. stranger bird.. new friend.. old friend.. friend of all.. lay blame as you like. I am guilty. But not wrong.