The week passes with little knowing of my cat growing - sinking her claws into my palms gently than ever - my hand displays the white lines of her scratches on my dry, brown skin. The sunlight peeks in through the door which is left open, awaiting your arrival - but arrives only the sunlight… Continue reading Sat Ur Days
Why is it so that there is such a row over what becomes of us; it sickens my already-pale heart. Must I shut close the chamber which echoes with your thoughts? Time shall pass as it always has been; lean, I am to your much-awaited approaches. What is there to do but to carve my… Continue reading Young; tall; lean.
Not too many people around; not a sound when I think of you. The whirling fan rotates for hours of the midnight - straight while I gaze at your reflection portrayed in the frequently visited corner of my mind. To speak of the heart: a beating device; pump-pump is the sound and round is the… Continue reading Crank Crank Goes The Fan
Lovers in March spent in each other's arms. The Sun glistens the newly-emerged sweat-beads. The cold north Breeze kisses their perspiration dry, and yet they lie with a will to perspire more. Words are not spoken in numbers great, neither of the two fret, but at each other's sealed lips they plant kisses; must their… Continue reading Lovers in March