As twenty three years have plainly shown, dressed in habits as mouldy clothes, recession seeks some somberly loaned gown as good will is predisposed to…
What did we lose in those primordial moments tossed in sarmassation, living in a glass house? I touched your inner comments then, judging me to…
Agnyte, like yellowing eyes half- shut-up with jaundiced doubt, I turn back to you as one waif to another, as one wandering flout might emerge…
I recall now the moment you glanced me, “Please,” you said it aloud to supplement, I knew then I had it, I was so happy,…
When I die, I want your hands on my eyes: I want the light and wheat of your beloved hands to pass their freshness over…