from May to December -Erin Wooten

older hands, but they still make me a marionette older eyes which tenderly grace mine with innapropriate glances and deliciously heady stares older love which knows how to exist is self aware is passion and temperance O, that infuriating temperance!
terrible gentle subtle breathtaking Love lost in numbers doomed by time redeemed, eternally by sense and sighs and serenity and by the perfect beauty of you, and of us.