Cups half filled with cold liquids of dark coffee and milked tea stained with lipstick. This is life. It's as petty as drinking or eating, loving, sexualising, or hating. It's a rotation of sun, moon, light and darkness. The chill comes from stones that have taught for centuries.
Ghosts swish past, year in, out, they speak saying nothing, wisdom in silence is golden.
A red blot of hot tempered floods revengeful craving our blood, fading from unknown diseases, heat defeated by evening breezes. Man await the scorching blaze this killing with penetrating rays that pierces ozone layers, lurks overflowing in misty vales. Salt pans form like sweating pores stagnation, putridity on dry shores, like some giant tears shed, insatiable this fertile earth. This flaming moon quenches thirst, lapping fiercely life's liquid first, gives forth energy and warm blasts, or death with its never ending lust. This fear of day and night comes, goes impregnated, bright, like a perfect time bomb ignites killing man's search for eternal life.