Hot Tomale,

For as bashful as I am, I’m in awe you resisted flinching hearing I needed a second to breathe.  Now that the clouds have cleared and my nerves are more accurately transmitting efforts I feel confident in following through on, I feel encouraged to put this pen to paper.  I will draw idea clouds, brainstorming bubbles and lines connecting them to an approximate aerial demographic.
I am EXCITED to say the least that the frayed one way tele-connectivity is back in working order.  Intermittent bi-way, highways reading love, freshness and stuck states of matter getting unclogged, blood flowing through my veins wants me to turn my phone on and recheck my emails.  I deprive myself, as you know, to elevate the output that ought to be clearing the way for when we decide to make the connection real. 

I am not worried about anybody in particular stealing my girl.  Pearl was HER name last week on my roulette wheel.  Hot Tomale, Pearl, Jessie James, hurl.  I’m anticipating stirring the sauce with a wooden matchstick.  I want to prompt and propel more than one or two words filling that email.  We choose to move at a snail’s pace so we don’t get scared, unnerved or ahead of ourselves.  We both keep each other’s mini locket-sized faces kissing each other.  We be missing each other at night, but the fact that we are both handling business overtime shows we are both dedicated.  And uh-uh, no I would not trade US for anything bought.  We found each other at the bottom of the sea with crustaceans and hammerhead sharks.  Rolling tides over sea stones had us giggling, oh it tickles!

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