White silk has its own finished voice as sheets murmur with cross strings floating against one another. Bother the skin with recollections and warm expectations.
By Jessica4 years ago in Poets
the dim roses were carmined with blood as they lay on the light-dark cinders. the snow-stained earth got them both
Slithered out of the covers, anticipated snow got dim downpour and haze lay destroyed across the lake. The canine was prepared.
In the fragile quiet of an iced morn he sang; a melody of shaded notes that shuddered hoar from an abnormal branch,
The day that we meet will be the day that I am free. They've kept me down for such a long time, I can not envision existence without you.
I have cherished these things with some restraint from early days to shriveled age as though the seasons had let me know all, of the passing magnificence
Dark mists assembled, moving through haziness tumbling to hang dull furthermore, pendulous is not too far off
I took an eat up today, meandered from the way I torment every day, a day to day existence spread out on the rails of the metro track,
Fantasy or not... Assuming that genuine affection I imagined, one without thistles in pink velvet... in your arms, I'd close the world,
Gulls hushed to rest by the low tide as the sun roots for the sidelines, shadows stewing underneath old salt rocks escape to the commitment of the night trade,
