i never thought this day would come with death's dusty pink collar blooming in senescence as the goldfinch flies with exuberant locution.
what tome have you written in your faulty hand? blameless brokenness becomes me as the light of tomorrow's sun reaches these cracks today.
i'm no puzzle...i walk the line of cynicism and bitterness leaving yesterday's nubile romance face down in a shallow puddle of rain water in the street. the sign said 'STOP' and that was the end of its instruction.