Thanks Be To God We Lived So

The Light Music Of Whiskey Falling Into Glasses Made An Agreeable Interlude.

That Ideal Reader Suffering From An Ideal Insomnia.

The Heaventree Of Stars Hung With Humid Nightblue Fruit.

I Am, A Stride At A Time. A Very Short Space Of Time Through Very Short Time Of Space.

For The Years, He Felt, Had Not Quenched His Soul, Or Hers.