Simpler Things
The curvature of the seashells were a mirror to his nose shoved beneath the oceanic museum, holding its existence such as a pillar and sniffing its salty aroma like a Pacific detective, he courageously carouses history. His elasticity of narrowness for his vision myopically focused on the emptied mollusk shell. A bifocal articulation insists upon concentrating on the dually visioned ethereal ocean background. In between the sea and the shell, a prismed attention incorporates her. Like miming a supermodel, she turns her head 90 degrees left toward his vantage then 180 degrees right staring at the ocean in circular fashion orienting herself back to the stare of our professorial hero. She reproaches his nervous ambition and continues her runway, walking onto the path of his unattempt of tread. He takes one step to her; she takes two to him and they meet with mutual interest as an equation who needs both sides to be solved. She cryptically maps imaginings, dipping her toe into the wet sand to release above its contents, reenacting another fall unto the sandy canvas as an inkwell to a pen, she draws her ideas pictorially painting a giant ear with an x left side its stencil, plugging both ears with the opposite finger writing secondly an alphabetical symbol for negative. He overcompensates by silently screaming and orally acting an overaccentuating of a quietude of verbose enunciation, "What is your name?" She grabs the seashell with his hand, holds both it and his palm, placing it to her ear pretending to enjoy its orchestra and laughing at him while he is dazzled and confused. Now dipping his toe into the well he spells, "HA, HA". She grabs his righthand still holding his left with her right she takes his finger and writes on an imaginary canvas between the two, "Anastasia". She takes his hand from her ear places the shell between the two, and their four hands caress themselves as she closes her vision, leaving only touch, he leans in, they kiss and she places the hands they still held on her waist.
The End
The curvature of the seashells were a mirror to his nose shoved beneath the oceanic museum, holding its existence such as a pillar and sniffing its salty aroma like a Pacific detective, he courageously carouses history. His elasticity of narrowness for his vision myopically focused on the emptied mollusk shell. A bifocal articulation insists upon concentrating on the dually visioned ethereal ocean background. In between the sea and the shell, a prismed attention incorporates her. Like miming a supermodel, she turns her head 90 degrees left toward his vantage then 180 degrees right staring at the ocean in circular fashion orienting herself back to the stare of our professorial hero. She reproaches his nervous ambition and continues her runway, walking onto the path of his unattempt of tread. He takes one step to her; she takes two to him and they meet with mutual interest as an equation who needs both sides to be solved. She cryptically maps imaginings, dipping her toe into the wet sand to release above its contents, reenacting another fall unto the sandy canvas as an inkwell to a pen, she draws her ideas pictorially painting a giant ear with an x left side its stencil, plugging both ears with the opposite finger writing secondly an alphabetical symbol for negative. He overcompensates by silently screaming and orally acting an overaccentuating of a quietude of verbose enunciation, "What is your name?" She grabs the seashell with his hand, holds both it and his palm, placing it to her ear pretending to enjoy its orchestra and laughing at him while he is dazzled and confused. Now dipping his toe into the well he spells, "HA, HA". She grabs his righthand still holding his left with her right she takes his finger and writes on an imaginary canvas between the two, "Anastasia". She takes his hand from her ear places the shell between the two, and their four hands caress themselves as she closes her vision, leaving only touch, he leans in, they kiss and she places the hands they still held on her waist.
The End
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