in the fields of elysium
the stars, the sea, and sleep.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Reignite
Your probabilistic procession was a cameo in indirect light
Mismatched pins we rebent and stuck me down quite alright,
And in all of your fractions of red wine and white noise,
I saw through black eyes and reduced to a boy.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment