The sand beneath my feet whirls away,sweeping me off in a sway.On the floor, I lay,as my grief is in bits, gradually fraying. I stifle a chill as the breezes
The sand beneath my feet whirls away,sweeping me off in a sway.On the floor, I lay,as my grief is in bits, gradually fraying. I stifle a chill as the breezes
the wind did not howlbut the door frame is loosevibrated and swayedlike the unhinged rusting tin roofand her anxious heartlike the approach of the windthe visitors seemed to arriveto test
Open the album to see your roots. Hover your petite fingers acrossthe beige page with the woman’sface you inherited. From full skirtof exaggerated hips in blackand white, to shortswith ultra-bright