Friday, March 27, 2009


We are all porcelain, divine skin resting over the bluish darkness of the night. We are all honey haired, auburn cherry haired. We are all “never found treasures”, enigmas, never rhinstones but pure glowing diamonds that catch strangers eyes. We are secrets, rising seas under half moons, bones and mouths of olden days. We belong to another era, we are strangers in our own land. Angel mouths and broken hearts, songs of enamoured troubadours and sleepy red poppies. In the middle of these wonderful things, we are flesh, flesh and delicate beauty, flower of flowers, carnal and warm, hothouse flowers, flowers wet with the blueprint of men, of naked sailors amongst all the fields and forests. We carry the air of nostalgia, the air of the sleepwalkers, the air of Paris. We are innocent, we are all fragility and empty dreams. We are ever flowing poetry, rubies under the sunlight, treasures buried in gold sands. We are all porcelain surreal and unfathomable beauty in the shape of heavenly creatures.

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