Corduroy

I thought my own episodes lacked sustainable subtext, but like everything else precious I’ve crammed them in a bottle and capped it to prevent depletion. My strongest memories are salted for preservation, but that doesn’t mean they lack moisture and go uneaten. But it is nice enough to think a wool blanket can keep us warm when we can’t stop ourselves from dripping onto the stone floor of a stained-glass cathedral. My prayers for you are corduroy, full of noisy texture that steals its pigment from the bleached weeds of my future happiness.