Pacing twilight heights over the mouths do to a moons grace.
Forehead fed to clandestine powers bruising the kisses of discreet fathers before her lovers skilfully cloak their bends.
I see their time worn face over her mirror.
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
Pacing twilight heights over the mouths do to a moons grace.
Forehead fed to clandestine powers bruising the kisses of discreet fathers before her lovers skilfully cloak their bends.
I see their time worn face over her mirror.