ASYMPTOTIC

When you use the term milestone, and you use it frequently in many contexts, I fall into a languorous state and sex becomes an impossibility, even if categorized by you as a forthcoming milestone, a milestone fuck. You smell of ambiguity and a contingent systematic pertinence that emerges eventually as a paroxysmal correlative to the overdetermined, once again. But, you do control the approximations moving to convergence, a corporeity that sleeps, composed so promised. It is a presentiment that has no adherents even when regarded inappropriately as a reconstructed authority. “Milestone” has no determinable grammar and falls in an interpretive allowance almost as bad as “size need not count,” not translatable, but a provocation within the multiplicities near an effervescent celestial station that almost hooks me, a singularity expressed, via a loose aspectual discourse, impersonally lexically retained.