
I swear I no longer fit into this stiletto. How much more with my gown? But that - I don’t want to find out. Don’t let me add salt to a bleeding injury. No salt. I could do better with hot chichi…chili sauce this cold dawn.
So let there be hot chili sauce. No bouquets but hot chili sauce only. No bouquets?
Now even if I no longer fit into this stiletto, I know my hand still fits in yours. Forever. And even without my asking, I know you’ll keep my heart –and me- hohoohooo… whole.
Even if I torture you about the bouquets again and again.




