”Beauregard, percolate the coffee! There's scrivening afoot!”

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”Beauregard, percolate the coffee! There's scrivening afoot!”
She isn't a both like a lukewarm middle. She is dual, twice fold, Two raging and whispering spirits bound to that beauty. There were none so divinely sinful as the kindred soul, Her angel and demon dancing along the rings of her thoughts.
Hate Within Love — M.I.
Today’s writing process.
I get to participate in a craft whereby the corpses of trees are used to sop up human dreams, then passed on as gifts, and kept in public mausoleums where they can be exhumed and borrowed.
Do I dare disturb the universe?
This too shall pass.