I’m sorry, who is this? I have a new phone. (Hey, Fictionauters, add your fav line!)

I can hear soft rain

My trousers turn when her these eyesights earn is learned in light,Like limn of laugh or limbs hers — do I know her, no? — but gauzy Greyhair ravings greyscale havens of Old Jake whose floozy Wooed, ne'er raised the wood that, pencil-perched, arrests…