by Andrew M. Harbach14 Jul 2014
Here to there in wherewithal, the children paw at sleeves:
Tainted gray-shade pictures and left-handed fixtures fall eager to their lively loans that are paid with blinking time to love. I'm afraid of the dark. I rarely shut my eyes now. But child, twist your hair. The fear will fade.
Wrong-handed utilities will rectify and entailment will gather your pockets together as one...snowing in the sun. No clouds. The only white - flakes in my hair.