these are like chariscuro still lifes from the 17th century. i read elsewhere that you fancy one of your sould to be baroque...that much atleast is correct, on present evidence...the prose goes very well with the pictures too...sensual and scarlet; and, at the risk of sounded like a one-track record, extremely sexy ;-)
"her mutiny futile" i will taste this a while.is there a rose that shouldn't be? for me, its the longing that is the rose opening unto what it is to becomelove the slanted sense of a room in these, the box of a house so the rose Becomes a she, almost more than a photo of a body... (?)
ah 'what are these roses doing to me?' "sensual & scarlet" indeed, certainly not futile! but, hmmm, mutinous, yes :-)
When she loves too much, she brings me flowers. Her flowers with thorns stir images of death, pain and beauty inside me. Today I will mourn for that beauty which will never be born again.
mansuetude, yes, I think there is. rose that shouldn't be, beauty that shouldn't be, because it kills you.
one track-record, thank you for saying this yourself and thus making my job easier :-P really, zuma, not only the hand, but the roses too? :-) I like your description, sensual and scarlet...
fff, dear fff, what are these roses doing to you? :-)
gentle, don't mourn, please. or no, yes, mournIn the cave at the tip of the lilyIn some hallways where love's never beenOn a bed where the moon has been sweatingIn a cry filled with footsteps and sand