Different Tone, Same Drum

You comb my mind like a beacon in the storm. a drunk porch light.
Aren't we alone staring at each other, you and i?
Separated by our vaguely different embellishments, fused to one another by the air between us
You ring out the drops in my hair
Moisture that gathered there while you were away, hoping

Seeing you blasts me to a nebulous lack-of-thought,
a listening pedestal.
room to reflect genuinely,
Transcribing me to the bone completely, my feelings reduced into your symbols
Becoming the ghost that was born from my hidden nature,
A specter like a tree so tall that it could break me if it fell, that's what your tsunami feels like.
The storm which your friends don't think much about anymore when it hits.

The Beginning: Our Mission

Who We Are:
Nigel Wolovick and Erica Getto. Great.

What We Do: Write.

What We Also Do: Live. Breathe. Exist as we think you do as well.

What We Want: Your creativity, your cash, your honesty, and your deep dark secretive animalistic exotic desirous caliope of ideals and ideas. Your bodies.

Write write write! Write more!