And Tall Goblets Of Petrichor, For We Who Devour Our Gods
to suffer the burden of seeing beauty in everything, the unquiet ache of knowing, the peerless stinging grief of beholding: the perfect polished wholeness of each unbreathing moment, every newfolded leaf or shifting shade of honeyed of honeyed greygold dappling decayed parchment of shed foliage masking lowtrodden paths between trees, Read more