The beauty of a lady Quivering The rain was cold Ran down ice upon my lips Shaking, in the embrace trying to get warm.

Cast into a star

The arm coming down Sparks, flying Cast into a Star Rolling upon the Sand Melted into a cup. The cup he held In his hand, starving A smile The reflection, The Midas Touch


Why is it that in modeling Individuals, approach The individual But, is interested in their clothes If I put them together I may have enough for a cuff on my sleeve A...


It has been Mud Trucks for Valentines   Landing a landmine  Not knowing how to operate the use of water