This morning's coffee is fire on the tongue - too hot - and let's not speak of the orb of fire in the sky, for it is most certainly too hot and too br..
Does a rose remember when she was a bud?As she shrugs her mantle of burgundy redAmass with thorns, grown out the soot and mudHer final goodbye as she ..
You ask me often if I believe in fateWas it fate that our eyes should meet?What more is fate than the potter on the wheelShaping our clay bodies, our ..