how can it be morning when tonight is yet to be written? you’re there where the space of last night grows soft and still drifts. the waves whispered that i should do this, i can do this, i have not done this like the many things, will i pet that dog, need i pet a dog, why aren’t you petting a dog now kacper, why haven’t you broken into a dance that will make the neighbours howl like dogs kacper, why will their dogs bark at you, attack you, consume you if given a treat after? you touch my leg, tell me to slow down talking. we have much more to go, you say.
in the morning, you stay as long as time allows. at lunch, you leave longer than that. scraps on my plate are fed to no animal.
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