#229: Cashmere/Kashmir

There is music and flour
There’s several raspberries and an orange juice
We spray glamour over our living spaces
We pour chillies in their eyes and force it down their necks.
He talks recipes and kitchens until the blood pours of his hands.

He hangs up the laundry while she’s at work. It’s too much. He’s too tired to be fucked tonight. But still he sits patiently waiting for his girl to come back.

House sitting.
How many times must he say yes before he can say no?

Oh, but I thought this was related to that.

Give me strength.
You don’t know my weaknesses until you play me like a fiddle.

ENDS

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