Ross Davison > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

“Hmmm……….. well…. it’s complicated.” looking into the eyes, the drift down to the floor, slow b..

this (pur ple stenciled paisley) wallpaper is burning. like the stick match between my fingers she is warm and heated, angry at me for bei..

hol low again. i’m home (hol low) again. this house is empty hol low, cool, walls, their echo rattles my ribs shaking my t..

in the dis tance, across darted black- grey spaced lighted limbs of darkened bark, blended on the temperature’s chan..

this (mourn) ing i stirred by the flash(light)ing ill uminating, a wake ned, to my dark( drunk and bleary) ness. wriggling in my s..

it’s Saturday night night night light a nd the height of sipping swallow drink is loosening my tie/ lips so dry th..

when i was y but, a oung child i torture d a delicate scare d ham ster until she, wasn’t afraid of me. ashamed, fear ing..

i was playing this up right piano. the ringing true the reverb one, pedal right, vibrating , and the slight off tune gives it the harm..

Am i ( see you ) sosimilar. ourfaces softer and sweet. as ( we once loved ) No. close eye remember though. ( Yo..

Sipping st. LA and the people ooze through each other off the etched balconies. Floating aimlessly bubbles in evening breez..