 That moment of confluence past,   only a diligent reflection of the stars   upon our clear skin contrasts these currents of feeling   creeping between us.   A voice drifts in the dark,   cold as the moon quiet as the arch of a fin   callous as the cracks appearing   from within the beds of our lips;   a sun-dried apathy.   Stagnant puddles litter the fall of each balding crest   the dissolution of... read more
						  
						
					  That moment of confluence past,   only a diligent reflection of the stars   upon our clear skin contrasts these currents of feeling   creeping between us.   A voice drifts in the dark,   cold as the moon quiet as the arch of a fin   callous as the cracks appearing   from within the beds of our lips;   a sun-dried apathy.   Stagnant puddles litter the fall of each balding crest   the dissolution of... read more