Feeling of Fall
The air changes from stale to crisp,
the wind sweeps in coldness,
it crawls into my bones with determination.
I sense the change days before it happens; 153 more words
They say there’s no real excuse for philandering, but a truism persists that after three years a man must spread his seed, leave his weaned offspring to toddle after their tired mother – it is nature, expected, metronomic monotony. 165 more words
Slightly Ambivalent Homage to the ’60’s
Crucible in which we burned,
smelted like alchemical alembic,
stinking as we purified.
What strange mutations
we became, hoping this… 212 more words
Consigning Mother’s Ring
It shouldn’t have been willed to me.
I’m not an emerald and baguette diamond girl.
I’m set in steel, not platinum.
Technically, it’s called a… 212 more words