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By Marshall R. M. Hann Submitted by Blessed23 Date: 2017 Jan 08 Comment on this Work [[2017.01.08.05.50.19907]] |
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I've resorted to searching through old words typed out or scrawled on restaurant napkins when my phone is dead and all I have is the waitress' pen and a dirty napkin to communicate with the other side, the picture of "of" that will remain for my fading posterity, my inept attempt at beauty and grace, but let's say grace again before we gorge ourselves into a coma that we can't return from, candlelight. The picture of "of"'s austere and humble grandiosity. I get older and I can't seem to find a better way, my skin wrinkles and my feet tremble when you are near. Avalanche. |