Sammur-amat

In an eon You and I will greet the choate moon Surrounded by her fairy dogs warrior wolves and magnetic fox tails who howl some foretelling tune decoded only by the whistling winds within my once listless room I nip your Adam's apple by my Cupid's bow we are a perfect art, a Sistine Michelangelo We are stomata of the umpteen, swimming in each other's dulcet drippings of halved and pitted French tongues and ears Let the years pass in this gentle deaf-muteness where Ceteris Paribus In this, Hallowed and His Seraphims know how in the glow of one night tide the firmament of all folded into my limitless room You and I part in sweet sorrow t

In an eon You and I will greet the choate moon Surrounded by her fairy dogs warrior wolves and magnetic fox tails who howl some foretelling tune decoded only by the whistling winds within my once listless room I nip your Adam's apple by my Cupid's bow we are a perfect art, a Sistine Michelangelo We are stomata of the umpteen, swimming in each other's dulcet drippings of halved and pitted French tongues and ears Let the years pass in this gentle deaf-muteness where Ceteris Paribus In this, Hallowed and His Seraphims know how in the glow of one night tide the firmament of all folded into my limitless room You and I part in sweet sorrow t

Watching the sun rise together, Ella wore a wry yet sleepy smile on her face while telling me she loved me, then promptly fell asleep in her coffee. Let's go back for a minute, shall we? "38 hours and counting, Lyn", my best friend Ella monotonously blurted out. She had been staring hypnotically at the marquetry of our antique grandfather clock for what felt like forever. We were seated together in my family's living room, both without an ounce of sleep for the past 38 hours, 28 minutes and counting. The reason for our agony: The Spanish finals prepared by Seniora Tina Torres, also lovingly dubbed (behind her back, of course) as 'El Diablo'.