Oh, Perpetua, how I hunger to know your names sound upon the wind. Per-Pet-Oooooooh-ahhhhhh. I hear it clearly in my head, but none say it like my own imagination, short, sweet, but not the full long drawn out rhythm of your name and all it implies. How complicated you are, how devious your machinations, be it one day or many, will none hear your name as I? Nay, for only I am worthy among your many admirers, only I hear the sirens call that is your glorious name spoken as it should be, by breathless prey caught beneath your feminine wiles and slime covered touches.
I stare at the microwave, oh, cook my dreams, cook the dreams I wish to enjoy, I can smell it, it smells of glorious times ahead.