Reading Ulysses in Montana #333
The book delighted the slight friend of another dozen books on the subject of nights in blight action.
Ginger said why do you always choose me? George said you are my one and only, only I would think so and only you would be so. The fright took hold of the book and looked the other way as a dozen more books frightened Miss Tuffet away. Ginger said but what about my taffeta dress. George said it’s in your ear. Ginger said you don’t know what that means, do you. The curds of words and the whey of all milk fleshed out the rest of the story in George’s mind and maybe Ginger’s ear.
The thirteenth book declared a mistrial of mistral winds and wound down the jewelry box to the wilting strains of “I’ll Be Reading You”.
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Very nice,
I love heliotropes…
And besides, my ears love your croon – though as from Ginger’s perspective, they make more sense when directly given.
And I look for these times, yearning for truths to be striven.
Then I, as she, soon realize my error.
For ever did he speak clear in his intention.