p.t (that's peeping tom) is going to climb up my three metre exterior wall, into the window, or he'll throw pebbles, or i'll throw down a rope made of hair, or i'll listen for his whisper. the other day p.t put a chocolate biscuit in my nostril, i put one in his plumber's crack and then i ate it. i'm no longer his pet, we are both pets. i've got to work on growing up, save for wrestling and sweet teeth.
there were some friends in a room yesterday, a collective of timid souls, eating fritters and jam. one friend was high as kite, one friend was giddy.
i've narrowed down my list of great loves to four. it seems modest. peeping tom is on the list, but i won't mention the others.