i was the blind man in the art museum and you were the stranger who sat down beside me and described in the most beautiful way that which i longed to see and i liked your sweet voice so i moved my hand toward yours and you let them touch and we sat there a […]
Bash wrote his Blue Strings poem on the morning of Monday, June the twentieth, the day he planned to meet Percy at West Seventy6, inside the newly opened hotel down on the waterfront. If anyone had asked who it was written about, they would’ve gotten a shrug and nothing more because he’d long ago sworn […]
from my bed, this morn a cold kiss blown, making its way to the vein in your neck, and to the hot blood flowing there, where your heart reaches up for your brain, on blue strings played, to the couplet beat of love
I saw a child on the nightly news Playing with a toy inside a room being used As a shelter from The Bomb’s long burning fuse The mother was there being interviewed ‘Cause war had broken out all over the place And when the microphone tilted toward her face She spoke about the future of […]
We found ourselves in a burning house…
Her skin was once my drug…
Hi Stephanie Faith-Anne Nash. It’s me, Aaron, and if you’re reading this, it’s because I woke up again…
I only said I loved you when I was leaving…
tin hats 