Updated: Nov 8, 2023
i picked the burning tuscan sun sitting in warm mutton soup with my chopsticks. and placed it in my mouth. the soft yolk spilt sweetly on my tongue. flooding me insides in yellow mellow. then it hit me, the taste of ginger.
i float on a still pool of milk in a stance with the stellar bodies, watching them violently collide with each other. andromeda with the...
my sleep melts into a million tiny droplets of dreams. breathe a sigh a puff of cloudy mist. what more could I want?
drunk in the fallernian harp, it makes me see things. ain't i too young, not ripe and mature enough to be picked yet. so, let me hang on...
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