Smouldering like someone hellbent on meaning everything
Handsome in black, tracking each frustratingly plagiarised conversation – intricately romanticising this need to breathe some kind of life through all of them
The very way it was supposed to be meant – oh so fucking fittingly drenched
His pen remains in his pocket, bleeds itself dry
He’s about to wax a separate sort of lyrical altogether – far less miraculous albeit of equal importance
The speech before the storm, warm their agonised cockles
Sow the seed, why don’t you just?
When these people open their wanderlust eyes to creation, go the whole hog to witness what’s rumoured to be rather sensational
The six string theory sits selflessly nearby, smokes a Player while that notorious glint steals his veteran eye all over again
Seems they’ve bottled the stars tonight
Willing him on strong
A collaboration about to set itself in tapestried stone, prone to delicate procedure, the ultimate and timely fixture which then gets to set them wholeheartedly apart
Finally, when a necessity for instrumental is met
Otherwise these words on this page will mean nothing to him

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