Sitting naked at my computer, thinking about you. How strange that so many fear what we have. They call it prison what has freed me more than childhood. A killer of love they call this, which makes me think of you as I sit here naked in front of the screen. Each inch of my … Continue reading Sitting Naked
He doesn't like poetry, because it's all just white noise, emitted by a human heart that was never accurate in the first place. He moves by code, numbers, graphs, and the clever voices arguing politics over the radio. There's no room for what he calls 'sentimentality.' But I am made of poetry, sometimes buzzing just … Continue reading He Doesn’t Like Poetry
Author T.S. Lowe 