words create worlds
I bought myself a tuberose to honor that of ‘17 (the only stem that could take me from hell to now) that’s what I see inside the pearly little roses (a freight car bearing all whiffs of life) burst on a twisted-heading-to-the-essence rod (their perfume- instants from another life of sealed emotions). I bought myself a tuberose to
Tuberose Let’s call it the platform of love I entered life from. (Not quite poetic, you know?) Let’s call it the tarmac for the soul, a kind of white and yellowish context for the experience of life. (What kind of poetry do you see in these substantial associations?) Since then, I’ve always searched the perfect
Worlds of Words 