I'm lifting up pages and lines to these eyes hoping to find some soul's frantic grandeur. reverberating somewhere there is a love laced with more than a tonic for pain, drenched with feeling more fruitful than personal gain, there is a soul worth chewing
substantial, yet light as a web spun on the wind and tacked to the damp barn eaves by night. I studied your art I tasted your heart and felt the pounding your words pulsed upon me there, in that spot, that little target precise for love's baby to prick.
