The touch that spans length and difference I feel the distance that he holds captive in heart and… one reach, one touch
his gloved hand reaching veiled indifference death of a stolen voice crushing, squeezing
there is a chamber there is a heart we dream it we taste it ours, unconditionally
the taste of purple inundation eatery fingers flowing in scratching clutch we hold
his exit, his entrance stars in solemn shades countdown in pink orbs we, burning out suns commencing solitude
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.
base of an eggshell in a portrait of painting she is pure canvas had I been a painter she would direct turpentine
She walked the raised concrete streets, built from the backs of someone whom she didn’t know. She walked the raised concrete streets, surrounded by creatures of origin. The rain cascade...
for the beauty of the day we wept huddled mass one, singular in thought we
and in that tear, everything broke every shard of pain, every loss the losses yet to come her voice, her heart caught
fallible fallen features flawless foes feel, feel, feel formulated
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...
yes... a million times over, I sai… to him, to them to everyone, to no one I gave pieces of me Perhaps
there is neither peace nor dream in a day. truth spattered, canvas inundated. bubbles fluid, liquid no longer...
