Listen to the elders. Their beseeching spilt over dry leather cracks and smoked spices. Painful cinnamon with a hint. Piscine odored mist upon the bridge connecting feelings to one so bereft, so clouded...
It’s Pronounced Bæzəl

Original poetry, short stories, and other bits.
Listen to the elders. Their beseeching spilt over dry leather cracks and smoked spices. Painful cinnamon with a hint. Piscine odored mist upon the bridge connecting feelings to one so bereft, so clouded...