her name is Tiadora.

shes the piece of jewelry you leave at home but always want to be wearing.

at a point, in between the desert sand and the moonless sky, i sat, mumbling about lighters and yelping at shooting stars.

with Tiadora giggling behind me.

sometimes life is sweet to you, and girls tickle your arm for no particular reason.

and then you leave when the sun rises.

and the dust clings to you easier than the human interaction you worked on all night.

sleeping seven feet away from someone you want to be sleeping five inches from boggles the mind and urges and urges.

but at the end of the day, same as the night before and the ones before that, I will end up walking, out to the road, down away from the lights

waiting for something to find me, something to attack, something to bite my neck and reveal the mysteries of the dark.

but duty calls, must build tents, must survive, must survive as a leader amongst men.

outside of the circle of light, I can smoke my pipe and sit on my fence.

i am a good dog.