it is a numbing a piercing of the proverbial heart with aching, dull shard a cold depth swallowing lungs contract, fluid-filled
He speaks with a purpose that dema… with soft, soliloquy of word to sh… the emulsification, the blood of b… and women carrying the weight of m… Storyteller. Anthropologist.
the taste of purple inundation eatery fingers flowing in scratching clutch we hold
all the poetry inside, the curtain… dropping dusty upon the frailty of my words the world, too old my thoughts, too young, too same
his gloved hand reaching veiled indifference death of a stolen voice crushing, squeezing
I list their names on my heart Count them... ad nauseum, infinity… They, who sew my shroud. I list their names on my heart They, who released it
for the beauty of the day we wept huddled mass one, singular in thought we
The metaphorical heart Burnt in frozen grasp As the stale air, travels, labored far from memories, moments of horror caught
there is a chamber there is a heart we dream it we taste it ours, unconditionally
it was a blank page. Her hardened gaze caused no words to appear. No flourishing language to embellish the explanation.No distractions to explain the lack of written monologue. Not even...
The touch that spans length and difference I feel the distance that he holds captive in heart and… one reach, one touch
his exit, his entrance stars in solemn shades countdown in pink orbs we, burning out suns commencing solitude
She saw them fishing poles in hand, walking fro… Fingers, gnarled, crippled with the passing of age. The skin around their eyes, a cany…
starlight sings silver catalyst for dreams the woosh of the window unit roars with smokey tang on my lips, I shi… shoulder to door pane, perceptions…
fallible fallen features flawless foes feel, feel, feel formulated