April 2012
Strange.
March 2012
“The poetry of the earth is never dead.”
– John Keats (via psychedelicism)
Mother Hips
All you wanted was a child of the sun and the sea,
what a terrible disappointment I must be.
2 tags
Today I am all flushed cheeks and flexed fingers. I am long conversations and repeated apologies. I am repressed tears and intemperate laughter. I am the damp yellowed pages of a neglected novel and the forgotten flowers of another springtime, pressed dry between thin pages.
1 tag
(You are so lovely, I wish I could write you all across the page. But, I am afraid I do not know your story)
