| Wednesday, July 7, 2010 |
| Between the Day.. |
Beneath the languid restlessness lay,
Thoughts of tireless longing in vain,
The cup upside-down remained,
In sequences turned in hands untamed,
The folly lay in the hands of such,
Turned with tales of fingers and cuffs,
Yet what remained of That Empty Bay,
Were the hands on which it lay,
Submergered in a white potion,
And removed in a certain retortion,
It sinks into a world in hush,
Bequeathed to the town's rush,
A glance, a stare, she watched it gleam,
Then smiled and walked across the street. |
posted by bereaved vendetta @ 8:01 AM  |
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| A strange medley of what I can give the world of my greatest possession, creative writing. |
| About Me |
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Name: bereaved vendetta
About Me: Optically, subjectively, and figuratively: EQUIVALENT Focal plane....
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