Over the stars to the top, forcing the lines through the snow.
Roll the reel, drop the lights, the cinematics of a gorgeous poetry.
Out of habit
We weave a thread of it each day, and at last we cannot break it.
Still Life, Sealed Letter
By the pen -- the soul lies naked, the mirror of a breast, and nothing is inverted.
Printing on Water
And so never ending, but always descending...
Adam Seth Rosen
Origins of Wicked Love
Who ever thought a little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness?
Amidst the sleigh bells and carols, is it the sound of a lyre?