hungry ghost take too

he walks up to me, mutable; face shifting from visage to visage.
it settles quietly on wide eyes that move from dense to lighter, flickered and solid, back and forward. his hair light, drops forward to cover his eyes from time to time, gesture to gesture, lilt to lilt. lips damp and thick and soft... and all so memorable that i sigh at my imaginations gutteral repetitive nature.

he wears a tight black suit hung over a tall and understated muscular frame, slightly dirty as though he's been out all night with red wine and cigarettes, but still tidy. a bit tom waits maybe, wanting to be cohen, or wanting to be both.

i digress.

he wanders, laconic, juggling three strange liquid balls, oh so fluidly, effortlessly, loping along, a sly grin on his face. pause to look at me : raises an eyebrow.

: of course you want these balls, elizabeth :

:fuck off, whoever you are... god, why can't lachlan come. i know you're just going to talk bullshit at me, and leave me stunned in a corner:

: but i have carrots :

:and i, your mule?: i mutter :cunt: under my breath. he doesn't hear me.

: come on, elizabeth, take them.... see how shiny they are oh watch them fly... :

fingers slipping between them, and over them, oh they whir so fast. i get sick of his games, but i kind of know i'll play them anyway.