Love is old when it strikes me, Love is not the funny freaky kind, Neither messy, nor couture countless caressing carcass. It is more of…
I chose to love it that way one time
It is a continuation of narrative poetry. But, then love touched the poetry, the truest form and I would sway a little. But, then the…
The Black Curtain chapter XXVI
Marco folded the yellow paper before presenting it to me on a tray made of very fine porcelain I could see. “Here.” He looked at…