Wednesday, November 18, 2009


For time was beside her time
If they just leave her alone. The wake and exhaustion'd go.
She's relented this air that chambered its echo the fair wind.

Its not fretted this air for nothing pulling the void wrapping the skinny things and the clavier, the brown polish, and burnished leather couch. How can that settee replace the moving finger, and the plush carmine ?

What does she talk about when drafted by the moans?