Sunday, July 5, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
her words i drink with a familiar perfume of the past. flashes of faded green comforters cloud our conversation. she says much that leaves me with a want for the marrow of discourse...something i can take in, digest, and appease the hunger for substance. but instead, i engage in clandestine dialogues...alone, and her voice sadly fades into the shades of neglected eggshell walls.