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I, too, am guilty of the ancient, air-borne crimeThat for spring of woman usurping womanPerforating senses, she too winters over time. Ah! it behooves, how men like to believeThe more attractive this genome of woman is,The more dedicated will be her love. Disillusioned,…
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Some things you never forget, especially if they are repeated frequently. I cannot hear her voice saying those words, now, I have forgotten its timber, its pitch, but I remember the words.
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The Rapture comes and goes unannounced in carbonated soda bubbles spicing the air.
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Beautiful, he thinks, as he taps the ash of his cigarette over the balcony, but this is not good enough.
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Particles flung by the sun
pierce us through, undetected
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