When winter stills the air from vapored vowels of our mouths into crystal-edged mirrors between us, I want to imagine that what follows will be sharp enough to see through to the other sides of ancient wounds and cut the teeth of inner ears on choral voices bathing in the residue of final breaths, still unheard. And so I look on, ignorant and wanting while the departed clip still-growing fingernails, blowing steam rings over my head.
It is beautiful writing
Thomas, thank you, friend.
These words, Stacey, oh my. You twist an icy blade into my heart and my mind is lost to novel thoughts
Cheering for your minds novel thoughts!
this one touches me … now you what to happen… where did I put my notebook and pen?
Yes! : )