With spangled grace your arms blacken virgin paper, cast a liturgy upon those eyes cascading down the page; a waterfall of mortified information that...
In parasomnic weaving, time spun in wake, in sleep, the same commune; a parlance with that unseen they speak in whispers of light, whispers of light...
The fugg that rises with the morning mist takes with it more than just these peculiar dreams and ragged hems, unbinds the seem and welcomes banality...
Towering monoliths with polished eyes that lean inward then sway back bowing as the wind plays these caustic strings, momentarily my shadow precedes...