She decided to win the movie.
Because she made no attempt to justify her decision, she got her way
Shut-in scholarship winning machine and mercenary, cleaning up the parody with some kinda future glare, failing at the parody with every kinda clean-up terror that was actually exhilarating and he was getting boring otherwise, like a pact that lost its shake, its tremble I mean, he no longer made her tremble the way she made him, mumble about the pretense--tender the hope he had for what was theirs together, unconditional hope for the parachute on earth. It got all heedless and daring between them, it got like the good greed, justice, like the extra goods breeding new services in us, consumption, bent needs, dyed flowers wilting in cracked vascular. Aw shucks, these are them, pastel magnolias wrapped in plastic, smudged of the belt they dragged us off, red-assed, rump shaker bumping, maraca off ebay buying, me-trine, he watches intently. Don't be Samson, don't be Delilah either. Love someone. Wear the parody like a bundle of money in a pimp's golden bib or his whore's heal or bra where she keeps reeling and softening and clinging to hoods and his situation is waste of a mess without her.
Because he made no attempt to justify it, he got her back, their words loomed the fabric of daggers together steady enough to pluck the careless between rituals into a tour of the sure thing. Don't be like us, don't be the anarchy that silences each category with an ensemble...hush now, don't explain, time, for another minute at least,
