Dear Sinner. Dear Saint. I feel faint. Is this life. Is this death. I forgot I had no time left. Why now. Why do I feel the clouds. The cool calm cold of the air.
It runs through my hair. And then it stops. All of the rain drops.
Suspended in time. I remember your face. Do you remember mine? Your subtle Beauty and Grace. For god sakes. I open my eyes.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Feathers
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