And the choir of the feminine galaxies sing hymns of thanks. in tonal sincerities mixed patched arching over all is a prayer of thanks for the men who get it, even imperfectly, they reach beyond us, beyond themselves, and they give it allΒ Β back.
we are all made of star dust. nothing more, nothing less. we are made all of red dust, leaving up in the wind silent as dust will always, frustratingly be