ET

There are the unexplainable The Roswells, where alien life forms Slither past as ghosts and scrap yards In the middle of a desiccated dessert Are filled with phantom lights And the human body is like Roswell. We have little deaths that make us rise. Little hangovers that make us fall. We have one feeling surpassing…

Bond

The essence of a string that is plucked Into minuscule waves of perfect harmony The beauty of a muse played by musician Four boughs and bows bonding in mesmerism Gifted are the gift bearers of providence Violins are the toys of maestros And they play, bosoms bared through lacey gowns Temples hoisted and fluttering to…