Faded Houses Green

Or the way the bowls of milk stood up to the bulls of silk, gathered tightly around the nightly lamp of juice and justice.

Ginger filtered the entire mess into this and that publishing contract that George had succumbed into a misuse of the word, but somehow it worked anyway–for a time–until they forgot all about what he was trying to say, and then it didn’t matter anymore–as if it ever did. Or didn’t. Nutmeg in bloom, Ginger assumed the argument from Ancient Greece could carry a tune along the potions of pellets disguised for such a purpose. But no more. No less. The planetorium fell into conjunction with the aquarium, denying Ginger’s awe over George, helming the opposite faction of fractions, deliberately.

Ravished bowls of silk and bulls of milk braved the hazards of the babbling dreams with courage and harkened heirs.