Thursday, June 01, 2006

Introit: Sterquilinium

"Wherefore?" the mottled harlot whispers, as the day ceases to allure and settles into its last brandishment, neither golden nor crimson, but a pale brass that cheapens all before it, and makes the heart sing to oblivion.

1 comment:

Miguel Cuthbert said...

I worry, neigh I fret! with troubled and perspiring brow, whether to such eloquence I have aught to add or, inasmuch as to the very extent my mode is convoluted, I shall but detract from the sanguine and transluscent stream of discourse. Yet my heart is lightened by ethereal winds to be numbered in such company.