[Throwback Thursday — Originally published November 2013]
As you determine which impeccable stratagem to implement on your unworthy adversary, I inhabit my side of the bed–clumsily, dastardly. Your prowess puts me to shame.
The clickity-clack of my extremities hammering faded vowels and consonants and semicolons and commas, in juxtapose with your fingers fluidly gliding over the lustrous and vibrant X Y B A, is abasing.
I seek affirmation so I pursue an exchange of vocables, but you’ve just been shot. There is scarlet splatter and ammunition debris and the structure harboring you is crumbling.