A fleeting glimpse,
the music of Angelo Badalamenti
playing down low.
I am in that place,
watching people with telephones,
ethereal women.
The horror of small:
exacerbated by her beautiful face,
falling in love again.
Poetry | Stories | Photography
A fleeting glimpse,
the music of Angelo Badalamenti
playing down low.
I am in that place,
watching people with telephones,
ethereal women.
The horror of small:
exacerbated by her beautiful face,
falling in love again.