All of these colors
these riots of sound
this salt on my tongue
the cotton breeze
the air of budding spring…
Titillate something
apart from these.
Some place
without color or shape,
a being made known
when all other movement
comes to rest:
The silent life.
these riots of sound
this salt on my tongue
the cotton breeze
the air of budding spring…
Titillate something
apart from these.
Some place
without color or shape,
a being made known
when all other movement
comes to rest:
The silent life.