I gave the faded luster three kisses for buena suerte, and retreating sway down dark lanes refrained from my reaching fingertips. So lips are the curve? Mathematical solution to all philosophical questions and burgundy ruminations? Well opacity in the insecure is deeper than those curls of orange peel that knife whittled free. I curve obtuse, it's true. Sparks are born before fire. A dusk of beaded syncronicity, but the texture is so uncertain-- I thought Moss! with that fluffy spring and compression, Wood? with a hardness of petrified bone bleached by sun; but as the face of such refracting light reached away from my eyes I knew it's disguise.
yet another stellar piece... love the language in this one; the questions and the reflections. the second stanza I find especially powerful... all types of lovely things pop up in my mind
I did as you suggested and chopped off the loitering last line. You were right, it definetley feels more obscure and open now. Thanks, and enjoy those lovely things...
