To Her Ravaging Memoirs
I make into my quietude, and try to break the impasse with my heart. ‘Is this a night, or I am merely shrouded beneath her hair? Is this a mere gust of wind or the smells of her? Are these mere chitterings of birds or they carry her message?’ I ask, peaceful and sagely. Even though I know that it’s not her, but this wretched heart is obstinate. ‘She’s here,‘ it beats. ‘Here somewhere.‘
. . .
Read more at: The Best Of Halfway To Asphodel: 2015-2017!