I’m quivering on the horizon, feigning sleep, my tolerance is at its limit. Hard rock or the wet marshes?
In the twilight, some things have to be held close. But a kiss is enough in daylight.
Let me whisper to you, a secret so old, it’s new again.
Get ready to break the yolk, 15,000 at a time.
Behold the power of anti-climax.
This is what I call dramatic turbulence.
We burn gardens to keep clean the mirrors we have in them.
A frosted wedding-cake world, covered by a green blanket of kaleidoscopic lights.
The groan of a picture, murmuring an apology. I’m sorry for the blurry mess.
You’re constantly balancing on the edge of a seat, a precipice – that feeling of being just out of reach.