A spaced moment of teflon deception. Charactaristic of unintelligable kisses. Leaves like focused martyrs gurgling on their last arched breath. Where do you go when you wake up in the morning. Sapphire blue and serenades of empty rooms, calling through the oak trees, siphening cloudy murk of still life leaves and inconvincing blasphemus hate.
Love is like a triangle that coners itself into confusion.
Still aching for the quintessential lie. Or the last place to find home. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form or in any medium without express written permission of Virtual Urth and contributors is prohibited.