eaglenebulacloud

the shadow of the earth moving across its own surface travels faster than the speed of sound...i wish shadows could create sonic booms.
there must be a fine line there somewhere. out in the dusk: a roar approaching: evensignal.
lights burst life-like this sad cloud shadow on an overwarm november, little spots of cold.
i wish, if i may, that i could have your cottonsong, your yellowochre warm bath of sun, beside my collapsing frail will. smile that works too hard. laughter that moves about the room opening doors.
i love you. (je t'aime). and i don't even know your name. votre nom...