XLIV. Arethusa will color a new river red
The souls of the ages recognize a common thread
Crackpots converge at forty and seventy-four
Peacock’s gold scraped from the ocean’s door
I’ll Call When I Get There - Her phone sang its happy song from the crisp white countertop in front of her. She sat on a high wooden barstool, still in her lounge pants and a half t-sh...
3 months ago