Nature had its own pulse beyond meaning and desire. It lived rather than exist, yet we lived for that gold to tremble in the late afternoon
https://t.co/zuyBVZzapd
The Seine was still moving in its dark thick liquid goo form with its silence summoning the spirits of Rimbaud, Debussy and Homer.
Beggars Lost in the Light
https://t.co/zuyBVZzapd
He spoke of her voice like the sound of children playing in the afternoon her hair like a cool glass of lemonade filled with ice and her hands like an umbrella on the beach.
Beggars Lost in the Light
https://t.co/6drf3hlru0
The sky was unreachable as it cast its fatal shadow. The gypsy knew we were beggars lost in the light. Goodbye whispered those cool ancient voices under the trees. You were my only solitude in brilliant technicolour.
Beggars Lost in the Light.