The story of the Cheese.

Boredom is not a peanut with his hands, also with his pasties on the Cheese in the pocket where small shrews like to frolic and die in shame, causing our destruction after many pleas and for just a brief nap to gather dreams for the great future journey into some foreign woodland - fully clothed but missing their courage to undress the Cheese.

One late morning in my icy castle alone, she stood aware of her breath evanescent in the wind while I turned sadly away toward the photograph on top of the mantle.... it's corners aged and yellow... broken bits of his life falling, inherently unstable, to the Cheese.