her, I

Spiraling to soil in deep, concentric circles,Yesterday's words seem to bloom asDaffodils or Sunflowers- Roses left unattended,Neatly kept under glass hoods, waiting patiently for years;Every new syllable seems to drip with intoxicating sensualityYes, a soft whisper for two: felt and never heard


there is this girl for some reason I seem to see her all over the place hair a sweeping dark brown voice sweet and scratched a whisper echoing through an old record player she often sits poised open honest in a chair intent upon her task and at the same time her brown eyes flash … Continue reading Wha-ha-hat