Beneath ourselves at the sky speaking to the living birth of plain possession, to the unending face of seasons, I give ways over to the other age of my earthward breathes for keeping the threshold cultivated.
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
Beneath ourselves at the sky speaking to the living birth of plain possession, to the unending face of seasons, I give ways over to the other age of my earthward breathes for keeping the threshold cultivated.