pieces of a letter to be written later

simian dilute, crossbreed kill know-how. I live in the sewer muck of mistakes and take-overs, and take-downs, and the failure to lie well enough, as to inherently suppose the truth. but there's a shimmer of light the eeks through the filthy windows- bright enough so the dust floating in the ray reminds us of a gentle snowtime fall. I've seen her- she's a speckle in a starry-night daydream I had a while ago that somehow permeated through the horizon into my nightsleep. now it's merely a thought, but one of happiness. the surface chatter is warm and inviting. lingering on smiles, hinged on maybes. but to know is almost like losing your excitement, the what-if. fantasy is always little more attractive than reality. snowglobes in july. margaritas in december. I'm in love with the autumn air, letting me breathe in deep after a summer of wheeze and panic. the feelgood rise-and-shine, no-groan morning time. a train ride that is barely audible over tunes of broken love letters while I piece mine together.