Search

Leaves

Tag

fiction(?)

the nice thing about internet acquaintances

He’d been gone for seven years.

the man with flowers in his hair

I can no longer see his eyes.  They are buried behind petals and greenery.  The eyes themselves may be feeding the root.

rustoleum on a midamerican evening

A bench that has no eyes can never really look out into anything anyway.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑