Poetry

I haven't posted anything here yet, so let's try this:

The Stars On Her Ceiling

Soft, steady hiss of her breath
Strong, heavy warmth of her thigh
Faint light from the stars on her ceiling
Her dog pacing restlessly round the kitchen floor

One still, small moment
Only I remember

I only know things seem and are not well

The title comes from a poem by Thomes Kinsella, "The Nightwalker." A little pretentious to start the blog off with, but its a great poem. Go read it now. Well, after you finish this.

Right now, things do seem well, and they aren't. I feel great, but I am sick.