Wednesday 2/03/2010 12:46:00 AM

Potions in the molecule. Parse their magic through the atoms. She talks to time. In frowns and equations. A tempest of possibilities fighting for her attention amongst a kingdom of lambs.

They have conversations. In words divided. By particle waves and common sex. Trading stories about what could have been. Extraneous matter searching the ether for something to be.

Patterns emerge and quickly deflate. In a pandemonium of eager flesh. She asks if the phenonmeon is the result or the cause. But it's obvious there is no difference. It is. Because of us. We are because of it. A series of windows. Encrusted in ice. debating her breath. In vague partitions of the hierarchy. That is choice.

We choose our winters.

Still we blame it.

When we are cold.

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