September 2009
1 post
Serenade
losingtrack:
Some night under a pale moon and geraniums he would come with his incredible hands and mouth to play the flute in the garden. I am beginning to despair and can see only two choices: either go crazy or turn holy. I, who reject and reprove nything that’s not natural as blood and veins, discover that I cry daily, my hair saddened, strand by strand, my skin attacked by indecision. When...
