Thursday, 15 March 2012
...once the tempests.
—that you are light—to my flame-lick—days—
for—all last touches brook and—jet
—under pirouette of, storms-arcing-kiss.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
A blog about life and losing my mind; about the emotions that take us, the colours that catch us, the little things that are lost. We create the dark, and we can stem the shadow.
No comments:
Post a Comment