Such a vice, this doomed beauty. Must there be an opposition to bliss? By now he had come to know his fate, eons could prove to be no harm. The impendence
A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. For even as love crowns you so shall it crucify you. Descend to your roots and shake
Can we transgress that sacred melody, that once lulled single selves into solidity? Can we dance and dismiss right-eousness joyously, and wander and
Head bowed irreverently with the cold blade resting on my neck. Quiet time, tow the line, a time and place for everything. "There is a season," "a time
Whispered words. These walls breathe the inanity of accusation and a moment of gifting passes through what once was identity so that its dispersement
