She doesn’t smell of roses. Reflections of sharp kohl eyes, she walks across potholed puddles, a prism of broken grey skies. She doesn’t smell of roses. The… Read more “Rain”
Month: June 2017
Eyes wide shut
I am the fragments of old book pages, stitched together with RnB notes Monroe quotes and magazine traces, Stapled to spoken word sensations, the night skies and… Read more “Eyes wide shut”