An eclipse hovers on the edge of stones worn clean by procrastination. Dusty and broken lovers weep for their losses and take up arms to shed light in spaces of grief to calm the breath of a frivolity. Some hearts hold more love than others; some were raised in kind, and some bled out.
Hinder.
An eclipse hovers on an axis just this edge of sleep. Believe you will forget spoken words when all but the clap of hooves passes away. Ten years, ten thousand: a thought not thought.
Click here to peruse my other random writings, Quotes, and Art
No comments:
Post a Comment