never stop

the line that is blurred the moments the time that escape that is wished for and granted is that worth crossing wirth identifying worth living and she crosses her fingers holds her breath before the crucial moments and when she can release she is fine and words spill from her and in her mind she … Continue reading never stop

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peace from the storm

even looking at her hands i saw nothing but exhaustion her fingers were cold and frail thin things that held my interest like the extremities of a rotting corpse her smile betrayed her quiet holding within nothing less than rage as her eyes silently sought solace a peace from the storm a moment where she … Continue reading peace from the storm

She, of the winter’s night

waits back pressed against a brick wall holding onto rolled up newspaper in sweaty hands eyes barely open to see lingering languishing pausing breath so that she might watch in the cool of winter as she breathes clouds entire atmospheres entire skies overlooking an imagined place or readl for the few instants they hang on … Continue reading She, of the winter’s night

She of Winter’s Twilight

She was born of the slow white falling blanket. What her hands touch turns to ice and her heart is made of glass. her fingers are the long thin icicles hanging from the front porch of an old home her eyes the brilliant shimmer of far-away stars in the clearest of crisp moon-lit nights. Her … Continue reading She of Winter’s Twilight