Copy ImageThere is a crack in everything.That's how the light gets in
Leonard Cohen
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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash
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Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as a secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh
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And I'll dance with you in Vienna,I'll be wearing a river's disguise.The hyacinth wild on my shouldermy mouth on the dew of your thighs.And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,with the photographs there and the moss.And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty,my cheap violin and my cross
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i didn't fall in love of courseit's never up to youbut she was walking back and forthand i was passing through
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